Page 53 of Down from the Tower

“What kind of Reaper are you, Zarev?” he snarls, zipping closer to me. There's madness in his eyes, making me briefly think of the Mad Queen. It’s anger for his death, not for me. I’ve learned the difference over the years. “I don't want to stay here! I don't want to be dead! At least let me pass on.”

I pop the last of the berries in my mouth, studying him. After his little story I'm tempted to let the man fester in his own guilt for a while. There's a good chance his Uncle Arthur is back at the palace still trying to cause problems, or perhaps he set sail and is headed back to Camelot. Better yet, I’d love to learn that he burned in that fire we saw in the castle.

Grasping the scythe that's settled over my shoulder, I heave a sigh. “Watch, spirit.”

The scythe glides easily over my shoulder, and Modred jumps back despite himself. I spin the long weapon, the sickled blade arching in the air. The shadows burning inside me rise up, and when I spin the blade again I purposefully start slicing into the air.

A thin, black line appears. Modred gasps as I drag it down empty space, looking unsure whether he wants to step closer or leap back. When I pull the blade away, instead of a gap forming, the inky blackness disappears.

“I can't help you pass into the afterlife if I can't open the door yet,” I tell him, his eyes comically wide. “When my magic is strong enough I can open the door with ease. But it's not back yet.”

Modred swallows, And I think I've finally stunned the ghost quiet. With a shake of my head I turn away, marching back the way Rapunzel went. The shadows lick at my feet, my magic pulling at me to slip behind the comforting barrier they can provide. Just because I cannot send Modred on yet doesn’t mean my shadows abandoned me.

Rounding the corner, I don't see the princess. The path ahead is wide, and although there's still plenty of berries to pick, I don't see her anywhere.

There are some scattered across the ground though, and my eyes narrow again as I place the scythe back along my back. There was no sound of a struggle, so no one snuck onto the path while Modred yammered.

Stepping closer to the berries, I feel something… strange. It pushes as my shadows, making them lean to one side and away from the opposite edge of the path. I pause, waving a hand, and find the same resistance. It's not stopping me, but something puts pressure along my palm, trying to turn me the other direction like a barrier is in the way.

“You playing with the wind?” Modred asks behind me, and I wave the opposite hand to shoo him away. “Princess ran off on you, finally. She learned to run from death.”

“I don't believe so,” I mutter, spinning my hand in a lazy circle. The resistance bows, and I can see my shadows pressing at an invisible barrier. It's not terribly strong, so I'm assuming whoever set this up didn't plan for a strong magic user to happen along the path.

I snap my fingers, calling the shadows forth, and they envelope me. I'm sure Modred can't tell the difference now that he’s dead, but I certainly can. The haze that I can pick out around my feet tells me the illusion is in place, and no one can see me if I don't want them to.

“Hey! Stop using magic! You'll never send me on at this rate.”

“You’ll be gone soon enough.”

Before he responds, I press my hands together and shove against the barrier. It breaks with ease, and I watch as my shadows surge forward into the open space.

There's an immediate drop hidden behind, leading to a steep hill. I can see where Rapunzel’s shoes are scattered and her corset is caught up in the branches of a tree.

But there’s no princess. There's lines in the dirt where I'm assuming she rolled, and no other prints.

I press a hand to my chest when a surge of pain rocks through me. Usually if I wander into a place drenched in the souls of the waiting dead, it washes over me in waves. This is like slamming into a wall, and it makes me gasp for breath as the shadows pulse at my feet.

I didn’t even feel this in Tressa, where there should be thousands of dead.

Now that the barrier is gone, I can sense perhaps a dozen souls here. And it’ll take more magic than I have to help that many spirits find their way through the gates. I can’t even manage Modred right now.

Hopping down the sloping side, I make my way down the hill. Modred’s ghostly appearance is an unwelcome companion on the journey, but at least he's gone silent for now.

There's a scrap of fabric further down the hill and I finger it for a moment, debating going back for the clothes she holds so dear, but they won’t do much good if she’s been stolen. Glancing around, there's nothing immediately obvious in either direction to tell me where she went.

I lean down, studying what seems to be footprints in the dirt. It's all loose down here, so it's hard to make out, but these might be the princesses' footsteps. They’re too small to be a man's and there’s impressions of her bare toes in the soft earth.

“Z… Zarev.” Modred’s voice is filled with fear for once.

Glancing up, I pause. There's a young girl down the path a ways, but I know before I can make out her features that she's not among the living.

Her form is ghostly like Modred’s, who's panicking like the spirit is going to attack him. She's more transparent, so she's been this way a long while. Standing, I dust off my hands and approach her.

“Zarev!” Modred hisses again. “That girl is dead!”

I ignore him, walking down the path towards the girl. She doesn't move to approach, her long hair floating around her as she waits, levitating a few inches off the ground. There’s going to be more around here, but she’s the only one I can see right now.

I wince when I get closer, her hands reaching out. Where the eyes should be, there's nothing but empty sockets. Someone hurt this girl, so not every bit of her soul crossed into the afterlife with her. If she’s tethered here by something, she can’t pass on. And from how wispy and disengaged her spirit appears, sections of her almost floating away from each other, I imagine she’s been trapped for a long while.

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