Yasmine Galenorn - Night's End

I looked at the bottle. “Will that hurt me, with the fact that I’ve made the transformation to Fae Queen?”

She shook her head. “No—I know for a fact that Lainule used these herbs herself. And there are no fish products in it. There should be no reason why it would harm you, unless you drank the whole bottle. Then it might send your mind into a tailspin, but I doubt it would poison you.”

I accepted the dropper. “How many drops?”

“Let’s start with ten, and see where we go from there. Peyton, kill the lamps, please. And light a couple of candles.” Ysandra held my hand, gazing into my eyes. “Take the tincture, Cicely, then lie back and close your eyes.”

I grimaced as the drops hit my tongue. “Tastes like I’m drinking toad water. Or dirt.”

“It’s the valerian and kava kava. There are other, stronger herbs, but the valerian is pungent and ripe from the earth.” She paused. “Luna?”

I opened my eyes and sat up. Luna was standing there, staring at the proceedings. Her gaze fell on mine.

“What are you doing?” She turned to Ysandra. “Do you need my help?”

“Can you keep your personal feelings out of the way? I could use someone to sing the song of spinning time.”

I wanted to protest—Luna hated me. It had to affect the spell. But Ysandra patted my hand when I reached for her. “Give her leeway, Cicely. Luna is not your enemy, even if—”

“Even if I hate what you did.” Luna finished the sentence. “I can sing the song for you. I won’t do anything else.”

Grieve let out a little growl, but she turned to him. “Your wife is our only hope against Myst. Do you really think I’d do anything to fuck that up? Give me a little credit. I may have little to lose now, with the bargain I’ve pledged, but do you really think that I’d make such a bargain if I didn’t think we needed the help? If I didn’t believe this war was worth dying for? Sit down, Lord Grieve , and let us do our work. Cicely is willing to go through this ritual. She knows what we have to gain from it.”

I wanted to ask how she knew about it, but the tincture was making me dizzy. I lay back again, moaning slightly. But then Ulean was there, by my side.

Luna, is she safe? Will she sabotage this rite?

No, she is not your enemy, Cicely. I found out who it is—but . . . Cicely? Cicely? Can you hear me?

And then, there was a rushing of wind as the world around me began to fade. I couldn’t hear Ulean anymore, but only Ysandra’s voice, droning on and on from a distance. In the background, Luna began to sing, in a language I didn’t understand, but she kept a steady cadence, and I thought I could hear a drum accompanying her. Her voice grew almost shrill, more insistent, as the drums rose in volume, and then I was hearing voices echoing in the drumbeat.

“Listen to me, Cicely, and follow my voice. Follow my thoughts—follow the thread. Can you see the thread of my voice on the slipstream? Can you catch hold of it, focus on it? Let it lead you along.”

I searched the currents, and there—there it was, a silver cord rippling with every word she spoke. It wrapped around me, like a snake, like a lasso, and another tendril rose up to beckon me on. I began to follow, seeing myself in a deep woodland covered with snow. It was not the Golden Wood, though, but darker and deeper—an ancient winding path.

“Follow me down the path. Follow my voice, let it lead you into the past. Let it lead you through the years. See them fly by, the past speeding forward, becoming your future. See time streaming quickly, a blur of motion, as you journey through your past. Back to when you were a child, then to when you were a babe in arms, and then . . . before you returned to this world.”

I wanted to dance, the song was leading me on as much as Ysandra’s words. The music became a focal point, and it seemed to open up the path, making it easier to skate past the years, to travel into history.

And then I saw through my eyes as a child. The world was so new, and yet I had been here before—I could feel the connection to the spirit world out of which I had just emerged. And then—

“Go back, go back, and let the path lead you into the time before time. To the time when this life was only a flicker of possibilities.”

And I was no longer Cicely, but a soul wandering the currents, wading through the slipstream. The wind blew past as I walked through the mists, searching for . . . searching for . . . who was I looking for? I lost track of my name, lost track of my goal. I was floating, wandering, beyond the scope of anyone I’d ever been, too far from the person I would become.

“Hear me—don’t lose track of my voice. Pay attention to my words. Let them lead you back through the gray time, through the time of mist and shadow and uncertainty. Keep moving. You are crossing the path of transition. You must go beyond. There is another door coming up. Go through that door.”

The voice was familiar, but I was no longer clear about who was talking, or the singing that echoed from beyond the veil. But up ahead, a door beckoned, and I slowly, cautiously, opened it. There, on the other side, I saw a young child. She was playing with flowers in a meadow, sitting next to a pond. I stepped into the world, but something felt off. Leaning down, I reached out to touch her chubby fist, which was holding a bouquet of freshly picked daisies.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

She gazed up at me and, with eyes no longer those of a child’s, she shook her head. “We came back too soon. He’s not here. We have to go now, to look for him.” Before I could stop her, she picked up a fat mushroom—red with white spots. I wanted to tell her, Don’t eat that, it will poison you , but the words died in my throat.

She held my gaze, deliberately, slowly putting the fungus in her mouth and chewing. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll find him again. I promise.”

And then she clutched her stomach, and I felt myself being drawn back toward the door. She stood up, leaving her body behind, and ran toward me, running through me—into me—and I felt her essence merge with mine, and we turned to exit the door.

Together, the girl and I moved back into the slipstream—only she was part of me now, and I realized I’d left her behind because she’d seemed so minute, so splintered off. But truly, when I examined her thoughts, young as she was, she was bright and joyful and fiercely brave for her age. She knew what we had to do, and she took my hand, deep in my heart, and promised me that it would be all right.

“What was your . . . my name?” I couldn’t just call her “little girl,” especially when she’d been a part of me.

“Violet.”

We continued through the slipstream, through the winds that were now howling, stirring up the wild mist rolling past like a thick blanket. It smelled of mildew and mold, of graveyards and dusty bones and hopes left in dark closets to wither and die. By now I could no longer hear the voice guiding me, but the song continued, the song of time, the song of spells, the song that spun the thread of my days.

“There.” The little girl’s voice echoed. “A door.”

I turned to see a dark door, cloaked in shadow and dusk. This was our destination. This was our goal. What I was seeking lay beyond. I held tight to her hand. “This is going to be scary. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to like it. You’ve run from it every time you’ve found it before. The story behind it scares you.” Violet didn’t seem afraid, though, and that confused me.

“Why aren’t you frightened? There’s something dark and dangerous behind there.” I hesitantly put my hand on the knob.