Page 26 of Season Warriors & Wolves

The air cried in warning the deeper we got into the forest, it begged for us to turn back. The wind whispered and then howled for us to rethink, to return.

The witches had lifted a glowing red palm in the air to form a veil of protection around us from any predator of the night that fed on souls—the creatures that had hovered these forests even before Celesteel had stepped here. It had been why he’d chosen this land to bless as his. He’d felt death here almost as if he had felt it in Caligo—the god had offered these creatures relief, he’d turned parts of Eldmoor into lands of the dead to protect them from hungering and grieving for life and to live. Us stepping here was a temptation. Walking this part of the land was challenging Celesteel. The witches were breaking more than laws of their nature, they were disrespecting their god. I could practically taste their fear on my tongue. Or was it whatever perfume Melanthe had sprayed on that was tickling my gag reflexes?

I knew we’d arrived at our destination when silence rang loud around us. Not a touch of wind, no clouds or moon above us, no animal, no trees or soil beneath my feet. The ground was stone, the air was solid, the skies were a vortex of swirling ruby.

A monolith stood tall before us. Solid black steel with three glistening red words engraved in it. Daughter. Sister. Mother.

Celesteel was the son of the most powerful deity to coexist alongside Fader, or as they had once called him—the God of Some. The Goddess of Nothing, Nihilia, birthed death, nightmares, silence, darkness, chaos, temptation, greed, desire and emptiness. The nine Gods of Nothingness. Both Henah and Celesteel had decided to serve Fader and make Ithicea the centre of their realms, looking to part with taking and giving instead—even death and darkness could nurture. Despite their powers, Celesteel had given somewhat of a life to all lands he’d blessed despite what he was, where he came from and what he meant. From women. They were life itself; he’d found. They’d nourished the land, they’d become mothers, daughters, and leaders. They were compassionate and nurturing. It is said throughout his scriptures that Plantae had made him side with Fader—the woman who then had given his land life, perhaps the most powerful woman. And women had brought Eldmoor back to life.

Right beneath that monolith, stood the grave of the first Grand Maiden, on the land where only a daughter, sister and mother could step on without being claimed by the God of Death as a willing servant of the Otherworld. No man dared. No man could dare. There was no man that unafraid of death.

And considering that Demir, the only man who could not be claimed by Celesteel, had not come with us, it meant that Melanthe doubted the deal of gods regarding his life. Perhaps, he was not so eternal after all.

I could bet Celesteel had fumed at Fader’s decision—a decision that had broken the very rules he had made.

Melanthe gathered her skirts and pulled on my chains to follow after her and her sisters into the land that belonged to Celesteel.

The further into the forest behind the monolith we dove, the thicker the snags grew, making it barely possible to move through them. The witches helped one another through the tight crooks and over the dense branches locking into another until we were faced with an open plain field covered in dark ash that still poured from the crimson-stained clouds overhead. There was nothing beyond it though I was sure we were facing toward the Sea of the Dark.

However, the electric feel of the air beyond betrayed the meticulous work of whoever had crafted this ruse. I reached a hand forward and felt the thick gelatinous veil of an illusion that was playing tricks with my mind—protection for whatever laid beyond it.

And before I could pull it back, something grabbed onto me and dragged me to the other side.

Blistering heat assaulted my senses and I cringed when hot air entered my lungs, almost making me breathe out steam.

“Flames, flames, flames,” a strident voice screamed right into my ear.

My lids peeled open, and I jerked away from the flaking body standing next to me.

Seven sweet hells.

Pieces of rotten flesh barely clung to the skeleton of a woman. Her chestnut brown hair was the only thing that remained untouched, long and curled almost to the back.

She cackled, bits of flesh dropping, melting right off the bone. “We burn. All burns. You will burn, too.”

I looked behind me, where the witches along with Melanthe should have been but no longer weren’t.

The remnants of a woman began walking to me again, extending a careful hand for me to take. “I take you to the flames. You will burn beautifully.”

“Hellfire,” I murmured at the sight of the black rose mark on her wrist. The brand of Ghenna, the guardian of hellfire. “The elder Crafter hid the sceptre inside hellfire?” To burn inside flames that will forever burn you but not kill you.

She jumped and giggled. “Oh, oh, aren’t you a bright one!”

I huffed a bored sigh and throwed a glare at the illusion veil behind me.

Cowards.

“They cannot come,” the…thing said. “Children born out of Celesteel’s blessing can catch hellfire in the scorched lands because the seventh part of our soul is made of hellfire too. Come, come,” she ushered me, heading toward a stairwell dipping underground in the middle of the barren stone where we stood.

“Why did you enter, uhm, this place?”

“The scorched lands,” she finished for me, guiding me down the tunnel. “I never entered. I just never left.”

“What?”

“Do you know,” she started, already panting and breathless from the walk, “What happens when a Summoner brings something from beyond the walls of this realm?”

“You can’t summon something beyond this realm.”