Page 9 of The Realm That Falls to Her

I get to work separating out the links into a single long chain as Destan shifts the earth at the gate crossing until he hits ground water. All the while I’m conscious of the throbbing pain of the bond, plucking at my nerves, begging me to pay attention to it.

I’m working on it. Honestly, I’m glad for the reminder. It keeps me going even when I’m hungry, not to mention exhausted from running from the Hunt and from my magic being depleted by all the intricate, complicated tasks I’ve asked of it in the last few days.

An hour later I stand with the thin chain fastened around my wrist, the other end knotted tight around the bones of the gate. Destan’s made a ditch, half filled with a murky pool that should just about be large enough to take me far away from this realm.

“Are you ready?” he asks, licking his lips nervously.

“Yes. Let’s get it over with.”

“Please don’t die in there,” he says, holding his hands over the water. “I can’t be stranded in this cold, damp kingdom on my own.”

I offer him a grim smile. “I’ll try my best.”

The hum of magic rises from the water, and the pool begins to ripple. I take a step towards it.

“Wait,” Destan orders.

The water becomes more disturbed, splashing against the edges of the ditch, throwing up a muddy spray. Portals don’t normally act like this, I know. This is a good sign.

“It’s fighting me,” Destan says, sounding strained. “It doesn’t want to open here.”

“Keep going,” I say. The horns on the gate start to shake, filling the air with an eerie rattle as they clatter against each other.

Then the water gurgles and begins to turn, swirling counterclockwise until it forms a dark whirlpool. At the center it’s so black it’s like it’s swallowing up the light around it.

The darkness that’s never seen the sun.

Magic crackles around us, two opposing forces fighting each other, and Destan’s face twists with the effort of maintaining the portal.

“I’ll keep it open for you as long as I can.”

I meet his eyes and give him one final nod.

Then I jump.

Chapter 3

Night embraces me, pressing in all around until I feel it like a physical pressure, squeezing my insides.

Except night has stars in it. A moon. This is just unending darkness. I fall through it without any sense of direction or scale, hands reaching out to snatch at nothingness. I could fall here forever, I realize, trapped in a never-ending space between this realm and the next.

I would panic, but it’s hard to panic when you’re not even quite sure if you exist anymore. You can’t be something in nothing, can you? A speck of life in an infinite plane of nothing.

It’s hard to tell if it lasts for a moment or for hours. But suddenly there’s solid ground beneath my feet.

My sense of myself comes rushing back to me, my skin dimpling under the cool air, my breath sounding slow and even in my own ears. I’m here, inside Interra—the place that isn’t a place. A space between realms.

I can see around me, which means there must be light somewhere, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. The place is bathed in a kind of gray shadow. I can see the ground in front of me, and some vague shapes up ahead, but when I look up, there’s no sky. Only darkness.

I tug on the chain around my wrist, signaling to Destan that I arrived safely, like we agreed. It runs behind me into a black lake the color and thickness of oil. That must be what the portal looks like from this side. It’s hardly inviting—but then, nothing about this place is.

With a deep breath I reach for the bond, the searing pain comfortingly familiar in all this strangeness. It feels less inflamed now, not so tender to touch, and I sigh in relief. That’s a sign that I’m in the right place—that I’m closer to Ruskin than I was before.

I start moving, stepping through the shadow, continuing in whatever direction seems to ease the pain of the bond. Encouraged, I move faster, and the strange distant shapes I could only just make out before start taking on detail as I grow nearer.

I nearly stumble and fall when I recognize the first—the Emerald Forest, it has to be. Except it’s devoid of its rich color, the trees ashy and dead-looking. Yet I know I’ve been here before—on this bank, by this stream. It’s where I argued with the nixie when I was fleeing Cebba.

And yet it disappears at the edges. I squint, trying to get my eyes to make sense of what I’m seeing. There’s the same running water and clusters of trees, but then the scene peters out, swallowed up by shadow. It’s like the set pieces traveling actor troupes use back home, where if you get too close to the stage, you see how the trees and the buildings just cut off in the middle. I get the strong sense that if I were to touch the trees they’d simply crumble into dust.

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