Page 97 of Heart of the Shadow King

I miss a step. Fall.

The plummet is long enough for me to think,So, this is it. My ignoble end, come at last to embrace me.Then I hit the ground hard, roll over three times. Still alive. Pain radiates through my body, but it only confirms the truth. My soul is still bound within this frame. I must keep on. I must face whatever comes next.

The red glare is harsher here. I can hardly bear to look and discover where I’ve fallen. With an effort, I pry my eyes open. Is there something wrong with my vision? The world is made up of flashes of light and deep throbs of darkness. Slowly, I turn my head.

My heart jolts to my throat.

It’s the Garden of Org. I’ve heard tales of it since I was young: the sacred grove to which our God of the Deeper Dark led Org, the founder of Mythanar, and promised to make her family great among the troldefolk, though she was but the daughter of slaves. Many have taught that the Urzulhar Circle was the garden of legend, though rather less glorious than the old songs and carvings depicted. Others believed the original garden was lost, and the Urzulhar was all that remained. No one guessed that it might be merely hidden. Right beneath our feet.

I stare in awe at those great, pulsing stones, a formation so much greater than any I’ve seen before. Gods, but it must extend for miles! In some places, there is room enough for a man to walk upright; in others, the stones grow so close together, a child could scarcely squeeze through. It makes every other garden and carefully tended formation of living gems seem laughable by comparison. For a moment, the wonder overwhelms me. I can only think how fortunate I am thatMorar tor Grakanaksaw fit to lead me here before the end.

Then my eye lands on a strange growth of crystal standing close to where I lie. A cluster of jutting stones, pulsing in time with the taller crystals but brighter than they are. As though the light of all the rest is somehow channeling into this one. Something about it draws me.

Rising slowly, I step closer, my footsteps wary. There’s something odd about that shape. The upper portion looks almost like a head resting on a pair of shoulders. From a certain angle, those two slender crystal protrusions could be arms. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was . . .

“Faraine!”

As though brought on by my cry, the world rocks again. A blast of heat hits me so hard, my troldish hide flakes and blisters, and my hair singes. Several of the larger crystals groan, crack, fall, crushing smaller stones beneath them. But the light never wavers. It intensifies, pulsing faster.

Coughing, waving dust from my face, I circle the crystal form, searching for proof of what my heart already knows. It’s Faraine. It must be. Her face is so deeply hidden by layers of crystal, I can discern nothing of her features. Her body is warped, horrifying. She seems to have grown into the two tall stones she touches, merging into one large formation.

But it’s her. I know it in my gut. Faraine. My wife.

“No,” I breathe even as another stirring rocks the cavern. Determined to protect her from falling debris, I throw my body around her only to cut myself on her sharp edges. Blood wells, a new offering for the hungryurzul. Grimacing in pain, I draw back and peer into that growth of crystal that may or may not once have been her face. “Faraine!” I cry again, my voice choked on dust. “Faraine, can you hear me?”

No response. What was it Maylin said?“She is as beyond hope now as she is beyond pain.”Is this what she meant? Is this what Faraine has become, this fleshless, unnatural being? Alive without feeling, without anything that makes life worth living.

“Faraine! You must stop!” I don’t know what she is doing, sunk so deep into this spell. I only know I cannot lose her. Not again. But how am I to reach her? How am I to connect with her?

I look down at my own body, at the blood pouring from all those small cuts. An idea sparks. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out theurzul, my mother’s final gift to me. Trying not to think about what I do, I cut a deep slice into the palm of my hand, then place it against the crystal formation, just where Faraine’s heart might still beat down beneath that crust.“Faraine,”I call out within my mind. We connected once before in a space beyond physical restraints. Then I had the Death Stone and the voices of two hundred trolde priests and priestesses to sustain me, a mighty swell of magic. But what was that ceremony compared to the magic in this place? The pulse of power surrounds me, fills me from all sides, flowing from every corner of my kingdom. I must only join with it. I am the Shadow King after all. This is my realm, and these are my stones.

I close my eyes. “Faraine!”Mist fills my head. I lean in, send my consciousness deeper. Step into that mist, which parts to allow me through. The hum of theurzulfills my senses. I let it carry me from my body into this space of existence between life and death.

I feel her. She’s close. Through the mist I can almost see her, a dark silhouette. I cry out wordlessly and lunge toward her, but no matter how fast I run, the distance between us does not lessen. It’s as though she’s holding me at bay. The mist swirls so thick and dense, I nearly lose sight of her. “Faraine, my love! Come back to me!”

I don’t know how many times I cry out, all the while painfully aware of the vulnerability of our bodies back in the physical realm. Any moment now, one of those great crystals will crumble and crush us beneath it as it falls. But I cannot think of that, cannot let such fear cast me from this realm.“Faraine!”I shout again, throwing my whole heart into my voice.

That vague, shadowy form in the distance turns slowly. Though I can discern no features, an air of concern emanates from it. Then Faraine’s voice says softly:“Vor?”

“Yes!” I stagger, nearly falling in this strange, undefined space. “Yes, it’s me. I’ve come to find you. The world is not yet destroyed. We can still get you to safety.”

The figure continues turning, seems to face me now. I see nothing but a shadowy vagueness, but I feel both her perplexity and resistance.“I have never desired safety. That is something others desire for me or from me. But it is not my desire.”

The glow around her darkens, churning black shot through with flashing light. She herself is nothing more than the pitch darkness at its center, almost lost to my sight. It’s her power—her gods-gift. It has overwhelmed her, dragging her into its depths until she and it are almost indivisible.

“I desire to be strong,”she says, her voice multitudinous as the singing crystals.“I desire to no longer be the shadow princess, cowering from the world.”

A desperate void opens in my heart. I’m losing her. “Faraine!” I cry, determined that she should hear her own name and remember. “Faraine, this isn’t you. This dark thing is not what you are meant to be.”

“No,”she replies.“This is what I need to be.”She stretches out her arms. Darkness gathers to her hands, pulsing and alive.“I know now. I understand. This is who the gods intended from the beginning, from the moment my gift came upon me.”Suddenly her eyes blaze bright, two golden orbs whirling with power.“I will be what you need, Vor. I will be Queen of the Under Realm. And I will slay Arraog.”

For a moment, I cannot think, cannot move. I can only stare at this thing, this shadow that boasts Faraine’s eyes. This monstrous, terrifying, beautiful darkness, this being beyond humanity, beyond mortality. In this moment I feel the vastness of her power, the greatness of her gift. It isn’t difficult to imagine that such a being, such a force, might truly be the instrument the gods need to stop the dragon rising, to end the suffering of my world.

“No,” I say.

“What?”

Her voice is sharp, hot. Not a voice at all, but a feeling, a vibration. Her eyes widen, burning brighter. They seem to spin slowly in that shadowed nothing of a face, a terrible illusion. Or perhaps this is not the illusion but the truth. Perhaps my memories of my wife are the true fantasy. But I don’t believe it. I won’t.

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