I did have a choice. I’d always had a choice. Richard had been trying to teach me that, in a way. It was just that accepting that lesson would have meant giving up things I cared about. Now it looked as though I was going to have to give them up anyway. If I wanted to save Anne, I would have to change.
In the old days, when I was struggling with something like this, I’d have gone to Arachne. I’d have asked her what to do, looked for reassurance. But Arachne was gone, and who could I go to instead? Luna? Even if she was willing, it wouldn’t work. Sitting back and letting other people make decisions for me was how I’d gotten into this mess in the first place. This had to be my decision.
Maybe I’d been so passive for so long because, deep down, I’d been afraid of what might happen if I stopped. I’d relied on the judgement of Arachne and my friends because I hadn’t really trusted my own. There’s a ruthless streak inside me, something cold and lethal that Richard had recognized from the very beginning. When I’d rejected Richard, I’d rejected that part of myself as well. Except that by doing that, I’d also turned my back on the part of myself that was most decisive, most willing to commit to a choice and accept the consequences. In a way I’d made the same mistake as Anne, burying my dark side in the hope that it’d go away.
But it hadn’t gone away, and to be honest, I’d never really tried to make it go away. Again and again, when my back was to the wall and I was in real danger, I’d fallen back on that part of myself to stay alive. And so it had always been there, a quiet voice at the back of my mind. Vari had said that I was too passive, that I always let my enemies take the first shot, and he’d been right, but he hadn’t understood that the biggest reason I did that was because I was resisting that little voice reminding me how much easier it would be to just kill them instead.
I couldn’t afford to be passive anymore. For a long time, I’d been pretending to be something I wasn’t. It had been a holiday, and now my time was up.
I remembered Hermes. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go do something.
I gave a half smile. “Well,” I said aloud. “It was good while it lasted.” And I walked out.
The room had been left almost exactly as I remembered it. I could see the place where Griff had moulded the stone into chains to bind Luna, see the patch on the floor where Onyx, Rachel, and Cinder had killed him. If I looked closely, I thought I could even make out a faint stain on the floor. Now that I was closer, I could see the fateweaver, half obscured by the barrier, a simple wand of ivory. There were three receptacles on the edge of the pedestal, each the size and shape of the cube. I reached out towards the leftmost one—
I felt menace from the cube, clear and threatening.
I stopped dead. All of a sudden, the futures had stopped being safe. “You don’t want me to open it?” I asked, being very careful not to move.
The cube didn’t exactly answer, but the sensations changed, becoming demanding and insistent.
I thought for a second. I knew Abithriax was watching and I didn’t want to speak out loud. Reaching out with the dreamstone, I touched the cube delicately, its thoughts slick and hard, like wet glass. I projected a clear image of what I was intending to do.
The cube seemed to consider a moment, then its resistance ceased. I dropped it into the receptacle. The barrier pulsed and vanished.
I started to reach for the fateweaver, then paused. I could feel my armour around me, wounded and bleeding. It had carried me this far, but it wouldn’t survive where I was going. Slowly and painfully, I stripped it off, blood leaking onto the mesh from my useless right hand. When I was done, I folded up my armour and laid it on the dais. “I’ll try to get you out safe,” I told it.
The armour stirred under my hand. I straightened, took a deep breath, and picked up the fateweaver. “Hey, Abithriax,” I said to the air. “I’m back.”
A voice spoke from behind me. “So I see.”
I turned. A man was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back. He had white hair and a white beard, thinly streaked with red, and wore the crimson robes of a member of the Old Council. He looked exactly the same as when I’d last seen him, but then he’d been dead for over two thousand years. Or at least his body had.
“I want the fateweaver,” I told Abithriax.
“You act as though you expect me to be surprised,” Abithriax said. “Everyone who comes here wants the fateweaver. Do you have any concept of just how many mages have come before you? Of how many have stood where you stand right now?”
“Not really.”
“No,” Abithriax said. “You have no idea at all. So very many. Begging and demanding, confident and fearful, brave and cowardly, all find their way here. All wanting the same thing, all thinking themselves clever enough to hide the desire burning inside. All ending the same way.”
“I imagine you haven’t had too many come twice.”
“And you think that makes you special?” Abithriax looked at me with contempt. “I was a master mage for more than two thousand years before you tried your first fumbling spell. You are a child.”
“I suppose to you, I am,” I said. “So are you going to try to possess me again?”
“Why should I bother?” Abithriax asked. “You shield your thoughts, but your body tells me all I need to know. Your own power is insufficient to win your battles, so you come here, expecting to make use of mine. I have no need of a weak bearer.”
“Liar,” I said. “You aren’t doing it because you can’t.”
“You think those mental defences you are so proud of could withstand me at my full strength?” Abithriax said. “I could break your mind like a twig. I choose not to. Be grateful for that, and go live the brief remainder of your life in whatever manner seems best to you.” Abithriax vanished, leaving me alone.
Or not quite alone. I could feel his presence from within the fateweaver, locking me out of the item. I didn’t know whether Abithriax really could possess me if I didn’t invite him in, but he was right about the gap in our abilities. I had no way to take the fight to him.
At least, not here.
I reached out to the dreamstone in my pocket, and channelled. I’d practised this over and over again with my divination, and now that I did it for real, the spell was quick and easy. Even though I’d known in advance, it was a surprise how little power it took. You’d think something like this would be harder.
A translucent oval appeared in midair, hovering in front of me. It could have been an ordinary transport gate, except for two things. First, it seemed to lead into the same room I was standing in already. Second, there was a transparent barrier across the gateway, visible to magesight as a faint shimmer. It would give to pressure, but air didn’t flow in or out.
I stepped through the gateway, the fateweaver in my hand, and let it close behind me. “Abithriax,” I said again.
The fateweaver didn’t respond.
He’s not even paying attention. Well, that’d change soon enough. The pedestal was still there, empty in this reflection. I set the fateweaver down on it, then stepped back and waited.
Seconds passed. I bounced up and down on my toes, full of energy. I didn’t feel as though I was dreaming at alclass="underline" I felt more awake than I’d ever been. My vision was clearer, and vitality surged through me. I could get used to this.
Focusing on the fateweaver, I saw tiny wisps trailing upwards from it, like evaporating light. I glanced down to see that the same wisps were trailing from my clothing and the wrappings around my hand. I wondered how long I’d have.
Abithriax rematerialised, blinking into existence in front of the fateweaver. He looked around, frowning. The room wasn’t shadowed anymore, but clearly lit in grey and blue. “What are you doing?”