Anne Bishop - Belladonna

“It’s gone!” Lynnea shouted. “The school is gone!”

Michael shuddered. He’d heard the music. Beautifully twisted. Vibrantly terrible. A glorious song of malevolence.

Travel lightly, Glorianna Belladonna.

He had kept his promises to her, had fulfilled his duties to the world. Because of that, the woman he loved no longer existed.

It was Jeb who pulled him to his feet and looked ready to beat him half to death. And it was Nadia who stepped between them and just stared at him, silently asking for an explanation he didn’t want to give.

“She cast out the Light,” he said, speaking to Nadia, although he knew the rest of them were listening. “In the story, in order to save the world and everything she loves, the Warrior casts out the Light and embraces the Dark.”

“What does she become?” Nadia asked.

He didn’t want to tell her. Vowed, in that moment, that he never would tell her the story, that he would hide the book and keep it hidden until the day came when the story was, once again, nothing more than a story.

“What does she become?” Nadia asked again.

“She becomes a monster,” he said, his voice dulled by sorrow. “She becomes the thing that Evil fears.”

There was a time, in the days of old, when Evil walked in the world.

When Evil ruled the world.

One by one, It destroyed the Light in people’s hearts, making them slaves to the Dark.

The people who eluded It cried out in fearful desperation. “A champion,” they cried. “We need a champion to save the Light.”

Now, there was one among them who saw what could be done. Might be done. Must be done. So she commanded the people to build a huge maze, a labyrinth, a tangle of paths and hiding places. And then, when they had done all she had commanded them to do, they built a wall around the place—a wall so high and jagged that nothing could climb it and escape.

When all the preparations were done and everything was ready, the woman slipped into the maze and challenged Evil. “I am the warrior who defends the Light, and I will free the people enslaved in the Dark.”

Evil, hearing the challenge, followed the woman into the maze, followed her through the secrets of the labyrinth, searched for her along the tangled paths and in the hiding places. And while Evil followed the Warrior of Light, the people sealed the entrance so that nothing could escape.

When the last stone was in place and the wall was unbroken, the woman faced her enemy and said, “Because I love, I stand here. Because I love, I will stay here. I cast out the Light and bind you to me. I cast out the Light and become your dwelling place. I cast out the Light that lives within me and will walk in this Dark place forever!”

The woman’s heart ripped in two. The Light burst out of the maze and flowed through the world, freeing the people who had been enslaved in the Dark.

Seeing the Light and knowing Evil had been defeated, the people who had followed the woman stood outside the high, jagged wall and cheered and cheered.

Then they realized the terrible truth.

By casting out the half of her heart that held the Light, the woman had become something worse than the Evil that had plagued them. She had become a monster that Evil feared. And the people understood then that the walls had been built so jagged and so high because the woman, who had been Light’s Warrior, had become something too fearsome to live among them.

So they wept for the loss of the Warrior, and they cherished the Light to the end of their days. But even though they never forgot her, no one went back to that walled-in maze to offer company or comfort to the monster that Evil feared.

—Elandar story

Rage stormed through her landscapes. Raindrops, thick as pus and stinking of decayed dreams, splatted on ground cracked by desperation. Death rollers choked and drowned when freshwater ponds suddenly changed to the boiling mud of fury—or were frozen by bone-chilling indifference. Bonelovers, pouring out of their mounds in search of prey, found themselves swimming in the acid of disappointment, and even as they climbed over each other in their desperation to get back to safety, the acid ate through their carapaces, dissolving their bodies as they crawled. The Wizards’ Hall was now an island trapped by a piece of sea, and the Dark Guides, who had relished being the whispers that had dimmed the Light in people’s hearts, now prowled the corridors throughout the nights, haunted by the voices of men calling for help, calling for mercy. Just calling. The voices of doomed men, already dead. And in the morning, when there was a morning, the Dark Guides would gather and look at the empty places at the tables. When they checked the rooms of those missing companions, they would find the carpets soaked with seawater—and there would be more voices in the night, calling. Just calling.

She walked these landscapes, folding them into each other, turning them into mazes that celebrated her Dark purity, altering them into labyrinths that offered no peace, no comfort. Those things did not exist in her world. She created out of the brutal beauty that came from the undiluted feelings that lived in the dark side of the human heart. She was sublime madness, magnificent rage, divine indifference.

As the weeks passed, the Light, that part of herself that had been called Glorianna, became nothing more than a wispy dream of a fading memory, a sometimes-aching scar.

Here, now, there was Belladonna.

Only Belladonna.

The land bloomed with the promise of spring, but winter still lived in Michael’s heart.

He’d kept his promise—for the most part. He’d learned from Nadia how to take that step between here and there so that he could use the access points in his little piece of the garden to reach his landscapes instead of traveling like he used to. He considered the rest of the walled garden on the Island in the Mist another place in his circuit and wandered the paths, playing the songs he heard in each access point to a landscape. Shoring up the bedrock, that’s all he was doing, but the tunes were starting to shift nonetheless. Maybe they were meant to, but he would hold on to them for as long as he could.

He spent a day on each circuit within the walled garden. But he never stepped beyond that. Never went past the gate and up to the house that was now his—the home he had yearned for. Still yearned for. Nadia grew impatient with him sometimes because of it, but his self-imposed exile was the only reason Lee could tolerate dealing with him when they had to meet for business.

Since the Eater of the World was caged again, and it was safe once more to connect landscapes, Lee had done his duty as Bridge and created a stationary bridge that connected the Island in the Mist to Sanctuary. From Sanctuary, another stationary bridge connected to Aurora, the Den, and Darling’s Harbor, giving him easy access to his family and the places Glorianna would have wanted him to be able to visit.

Not that he ever used the bridge that led to Sanctuary. It was within sight of the house—and within sight of the bed of turned earth that held the piece of granite and the heart’s hope that was his heart’s symbol for home.

Putting the bridge there, where he would be reminded of what Glorianna had given him every time he used it, was a piece of calculated cruelty on Lee’s part—payback for a broken arm and a lost sister. He understood that well enough.

So he did his duty to the world and played his tunes while his heart froze in a winter that would never end.

There was no Light.

At first, It had felt gleeful that the surviving currents of Light within the school had been so diminished that they were little more than starved threads, easily snuffed out. It had reveled in the despair and anger that had flowed from the surviving humans in Wizard City, as well as gulping down the fear that had flowed from the Dark Guides.