Destined to the Reaper (The Shadow Realms #2)

Chapter 2

Kali

A ngry tears pricked my eyes as I stomped my feet on the way to my horse. Guilt, rage, and a sense of renewed determination slapped aside the debilitating helplessness that always attempted to rear its head whenever I thought of Jasper’s situation.

He’d been such a handsome man before he allowed his greed and thirst for power to be his downfall. As I got on my horse, I glanced at the necromancer’s carriage traipsing past me. Many of the women nearby cast less-than-subtle appreciative glances at my brother, fooled by the glamour spell that hid the rotting corpse he had become beneath the pretty illusion.

I shifted my vision back to normal so that I, too, could enjoy one last look at him in his former glory. While Jasper was physically as light as I was dark, our personalities were the exact opposite. His shoulder length blonde locks gently swayed in the wind, exposing his fair skin, and striking blue eyes. Like Cornelius, my brother was lithe with a slightly androgynous beauty.

He’d shamelessly used seduction to get what he wanted from men and women alike. As my brother had been attracted to all genders, nothing was ever out of bounds or too outrageous for him, especially if it got him ahead.

As I began the long ride to the one person who might help me put an end to Cornelius, I once more berated myself for not having been firmer with my brother when he first entertained working for him. I’d always been too weak when it came to Jasper. Although he’d been the eldest, I’d been the mature one and the voice of reason. But his hunger for power superseded everything.

I deluded myself that he would soon realize what an abusive monster he had chosen as mentor. I knew men like Cornelius well. To them, people were just expendable tools, puppets to be used to further their ends. But instead of realizing his mistake and cutting his losses by leaving, Jasper attempted to take for himself what his master withheld from him.

He was so stupid, snooping around Cornelius’s forbidden library, skimming off the top of his stash of reagents to perform his personal experiments and research, and sleeping with his concubines in the hopes of gathering juicy secrets he could leverage. What madness made him think Cornelius wouldn’t notice or that he would simply let him get away with it with a mild reprimand?

Granted, not even I would have expected Cornelius to take things this far. But it had already been four years. It was now clear that he would never set Jasper free. That wretched necromancer was a sadist and a psychopath. I would derive intense pleasure in being an agent in his demise.

As I approached the wrought iron fences of Cliona Nox’s domain, my pulse picked up the pace. By all accounts, the mysterious woman—informally known as the Weaver or the Hag—could be quite fickle as to who she granted her assistance. As you could not make an appointment with her, you had no choice but to show up and pray that she opened her gates.

My heart sank at the sight of what resembled a pair of stone imps leaping off the pillars framing the tall iron gates barring the way in. Their owlish eyes glowed red, lighting up their triangular faces framed by pointy bat ears. To my dismay, they appeared to grow, turning into full gargoyles as their stone skin took on a semi-leathery texture. With a blood-curdling roar, they gave chase to a man who had clearly been seeking an audience. Shrieking, the man rode off on his horse as bolts of fire cast by the creatures exploded behind him.

Although they missed, I didn’t doubt for a moment that had the gargoyles truly sought to kill or harm him, it would have been a done deal at the first shot. I slowed down my horse as I closed the distance with the gate. While one of the creatures continued to ‘encourage’ the man to keep going, the other one circled back in my direction.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stopped my horse. Heart pounding, I debated whether to turn around and hightail it before it decided to burn me to cinders. However, the red glow of its eyes shifted into a pale yellowish hue, akin to the open flame of a candle. It flew around me before turning back towards the gate, then settling on top of the right pillar. Moments later, the second gargoyle gave up its chase and returned to its own pillar on the other side.

To my shock, as their bodies shrunk back to their original impish sizes, they both turned their heads to look at me. The same, non-threatening, pale yellow glow shone in their owlish orbs. Simultaneously, the tall, heavy doors parted open as if pushed by an invisible hand.

I swallowed hard and urged my horse to resume its advance, but this time at a slow walk. The deafening sound of my blood rushing in my ears failed to cover the loud pounding of my heart as I warily made my way through the still open gates. My head jerked left and right to look in turn at each of the guardians for any sign of discontent at my presence.

Halfway through the entrance, the gates started closing behind me in a less-than-subtle fashion to tell me to get a move on. I didn’t need to be told twice. Pushing my horse to half trot, I crossed the wide path delineated by a luscious forest made of the strangest trees and vegetation on each side, and which led to the house.

The humble shack that awaited me at the end of the two-hundred-meter packed dirt pathway took me by surprise. I didn’t know what I had expected, but certainly not a simple thatched-roof cottage. It wasn’t until I disembarked from my horse and attached it to the post outside that I realized this was some sort of glamour hiding the house’s true appearance. That altering my vision to see past it revealed nothing testified to the insane power of the mage who had cast the spell to begin with.

I wondered why the Weaver would bother with such a thing. A part of me feared that it meant she had a thing for deception. Another wondered if it was a calculated move to avoid exposing any of her potential vulnerabilities by exposing what truly appealed to her. And then the last part didn’t particularly give a shit. I was just grateful she agreed to receive me, especially seeing how the previous supplicant had all but been sent away with his butt on fire.

The dark wood of the worn-out door creaked open on its own with a drawn-out whine. My skin tingled as the potent magic of powerful wards glided over me as I entered the dwelling. I barely spared a look at the typical witch hut that greeted me with its plethora of scrolls, herbs, vials filled with various liquids probably best left alone, and other magical paraphernalia.

I only had eyes for the ageless woman sitting on a stool while spinning a glowing golden thread on a wheel. She was a few feet behind a large table and faced towards the right side of the house. Although fully aware of my presence, Cliona continued to spin in silence, making me wonder if I should speak first or clear my throat to claim her attention.

A gasp escaped me when a chair I hadn’t noticed by the door glided over the wooden floor to stop right in front of the table, where a guest chair would normally sit.

I emitted a small yelp upon hearing a loud clang behind me. I jerked my head around over my shoulder to realize it was merely the door closing. Embarrassed to be so jumpy, I cast a nervous glance at the Weaver. Finding her now sitting behind the table, her hands crossed on top of it and staring me straight in the eye nearly had me jumping out of my skin.

Although I didn’t yelp again this time that she would have moved so quickly and soundlessly, I visibly recoiled and pressed a palm to my chest as if to keep my heart from leaping out.

“So jumpy, Kali,” the Weaver said in a sensuously throaty voice laced with a hint of mockery. “How can you hope to defeat Cornelius if you are so easily frightened?”

“How do you know?!” I exclaimed, stunned.

My cheeks felt on the verge of bursting into flames from even more embarrassment at the less-than-impressed look she gave me. Rumors claimed that Cliona Nox was one of the Ancients, although nobody could prove it. After all, why would a goddess dwell among mortals and assist them with various plights that had to be meaningless to her?

A shiver ran down my spine as the round pupils of her golden eyes narrowed into a slit as her gaze flicked to the empty chair in front of the table before returning to me. I swallowed hard and gingerly closed the distance with the chair before settling down on it. Her pupils returned to their round shape which I took as a good sign. She tilted her head to the side while giving me an assessing look.

The long, delicate fingers of her right hand, tipped with vicious claws, absent-mindedly caressed the thick braid she’d bound her hair into. It was silver-white, but not the standard gray of an elderly person, and fell all the way down to her feet. It stood out nicely against her tanned skinned, the type of color one would acquire by spending a lifetime under the sun.

She seemed ageless, neither young nor old. But the power that emanated from her left me reeling. I didn’t doubt it was only the tip of the iceberg.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said at last, her face unreadable.

“I won’t deny being a little unnerved,” I said, proud that my voice came out steadier than I felt. “It’s not every day that one gets to meet an Ancient, seconds after seeing a supplicant nearly getting roasted by your guardians.”

An almost imperceptible smile quirked the corner of her voluptuous lips.

“There’s nothing more insufferable than someone who won’t accept that no means no the first time,” she said dismissively.

I noticed how she did not argue my statement about her being one of the Ancients.

“Which makes me curious as to what earned me the honor of being granted an audience, especially since you know what my goal is,” I said carefully.

“A bold one for sure, reckless even for most,” she concurred, the intensity with which she held my gaze unnerving me. “The question is whether you’re committed enough to your cause to see it through.”

“He’s been torturing my brother for years now,” I hissed, the old anger squashing any nervousness I felt. “I want this bastard dead, and my brother freed. There’s nothing I won’t do to see this through.”

“Nothing?” she asked with a dare in her voice as she raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Whatever the cost, I want to take him down.”

The Weaver snorted and gave me a slow once over. “You all say that but then balk and beat your chests when the time comes to pay.”

I braced for what I had known might be the dealbreaker. What did you offer a goddess in exchange for her assistance? From our humble beginnings, I had created a decent life for myself as a blood mage and necromancer. But one such as the Weaver would have no use for coins.

“I can see that,” I said carefully. “So what would be your price to aid me in this endeavor?”

“Nothing,” she deadpanned.

I recoiled. “WHAT?!”

A mysterious smile stretched her lips while her golden gaze took on a calculating edge. “You heard me correctly. The price for my assistance is nothing. I will grant it for free.”

I frowned and narrowed my eyes at her. “Nothing is ever free, especially not when dealing with the arcane and the dark arts.”

Her smile broadened, and a glimmer of approval sparked in her eyes.

“You are correct, young Kali. But my price is nothing. Where I’m concerned, your success will be reward enough for me.”

“So there is a price?” I insisted, annoyed by her mind games.

“Of course, silly girl. There always is. But it is not one I request,” she repeated in a noncommittal fashion.

This time, I loudly huffed with aggravation that she forced me to reword the question yet again in a way she would not be able to dance around the answer. Despite my annoyance, I was beginning to suspect it was deliberate on her part. When dealing with the occult, one had to be incredibly careful about not allowing loopholes. Was this her way of evaluating my ability to be thorough or how easily I could be played?

“So what is the price specifically?” I asked.

“Your soul,” she said matter-of-factly.

I jumped to my feet, shock, anger, and disbelief soaring through me at such an outrageous demand.

“Sit down, you fool,” the Weaver said with a bored expression.

“You can’t—”

“Sit. Down,” she repeated in a harsh tone, interrupting me.

The icy look in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. I swallowed hard and complied.

“Cornelius is protected,” she continued in a conversational tone as if nothing had happened. “He’s essentially immortal thanks to a Reaper.”

“Nine hells,” I whispered, horrified. “Why would they protect him?”

“I assure you that it is not willingly,” Cliona said, her voice hardening again as did her gaze, but this time not aimed at me. “Pharos is his prisoner. Cornelius ensnared him and took him within himself so that he could benefit from all his powers. So long as he continues to hold the Reaper, you will be unable to defeat or kill him. Therefore, you must separate them.”

I shifted uneasily in my seat, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of the task before me. I had hoped for a spell, curse, or poison that would have taken care of him. But that would have been too easy. No wonder he remained unscathed over the decades despite the countless enemies who wanted nothing more than to end him.

“How could I accomplish that?” I asked in a subdued voice. “How do I separate them?”

“You must free Pharos. But you can only achieve that if he collaborates with you,” she cautioned.

“How in the world am I supposed to accomplish that? If he’s hosted within Cornelius, I’ll never be able to speak with him,” I said, my voice clearly expressing how ludicrous this sounded.

Cliona stared at me, unfazed. “You must summon him, like one would a demon or a spirit. You will have a narrow window to speak with him and convince him of your worth and dedication to this cause.”

I licked my lips nervously and slowly nodded while digesting her words. “Okay, I can do that. But how do I summon him?”

“I will show you, if you are willing to pay the price required,” she challenged.

My face immediately closed off. “Why does he need my soul in order for him to be separated from Cornelius? I’m trying to free my own brother from having his soul stolen by that son of a bitch, and your Reaper expects me to hand over mine in the process?”

“He needs a bond that supersedes the current one with Cornelius in order for him to escape,” the Weaver explained.

“As in a new host?” I asked.

She nodded. “A temporary one until he can reintegrate his own body.”

“Fair enough. But why do I have to give him my soul for that? Why can’t I just host him?” I challenged.

“Because he is tethered. Your soul will create a stronger bond that will allow him to break free,” she replied patiently.

I pinched my lips and realized I was subconsciously shaking my head. However desperate I was to find a way to free my brother, handing over my soul to a powerful being from the netherworld, a Grim Reaper at that, was where I drew the line.

“Surely there has to be another way that doesn’t involve me giving away my soul?” I argued.

Cliona pursed her lips. Although she appeared to ponder the matter, at a visceral level, I believed she already knew the answer but was deliberately delaying speaking it either for dramatic effect or because she was wondering if I had what it took to see this through.

The thought she might kick me out nearly sent me into a panic. While I wasn’t ready to pay such a hefty price, she was my last hope of saving Jasper. I’d spent the past four years looking for a way, none of which even remotely stood a chance.

“Maybe there is one,” she said at last.

I perked up, hope swelling in my heart. “And what would that be?”

“You must carry a part of him within you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked when her voice trailed off and she didn’t expand. “Carry a part of him as a host or become possessed by him?”

“As a host,” she replied.

I gritted my teeth with exasperation at the obnoxious way she forced me to drag every tidbit of information out of her in a slow drip, drip.

“Will that allow him to control me?”

“No.”

“Will this be something permanent or only temporary?”

“Temporary. Pharos wants to be free. If you succeed, he will return to his own vessel, and there will be no more bond between the two of you,” she said.

“Deal!” I exclaimed, although I bit back the urge to chastise her for not just telling me that from the start.

“Not with me, my dear,” the Weaver said in a mocking tone. “It is he you need to make an agreement with. I can only tell you how to proceed in summoning him.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “For you to be willing to provide this aid free of charge, you must truly want to see Cornelius defeated. You are powerful, far more than I can ever hope to be. Why not take this matter into your own hands, especially since you already know how to perform the ritual?”

To my surprise, instead of the haughty expression I expected her to give me for implying one such as she would lower herself to perform such menial tasks, Cliona’s face hardened with genuine frustration laced with anger.

“Believe me, child, if I could, I would have taken great pleasure in obliterating him in the most gruesome fashion,” she said with such venom that a chill ran down my spine. “But we are all bound by rules. In my case, I may not interfere in the matters of mortals. I can nudge you in a certain direction, put down breadcrumbs, but not directly change the thread of Fate.”

I nodded slowly. “Very well. How do I go about this?”

“You must go to a safe place of power, ideally a fairy ring. You chose an appropriate dwelling as there are a few suitable ones nearby with the right level of privacy. Make sure to set up wards to keep unwanted visitors from intruding. It is vital that you keep this secret. Cornelius may not know what is happening before it is too late, or he will shackle Pharos further,” she explained.

“Understood,” I said, feeling both nervous and thrilled.

She whipped out a piece of parchment and drew on it the strangest circle I had ever seen. It wasn’t the usual summoning pentagram. It didn’t even have a pentagram in it but an unusual series of swirls and lines around the edges of the circle, none of them crossing its center.

The Weaver got up and went to retrieve a medium-sized copper box and handed it to me. It contained a grainy substance that resembled salt, but I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t. Green strands in it, akin to tiny seeds, indicated the grains had been mixed with some kind of herbs I had never seen before.

For the next fifteen minutes, she painstakingly explained the process as well as the incantations I had to speak to summon the Reaper. Although she didn’t say as much, based on the amount of ‘not salt’ contained in the box, I suspected I would have to perform the ritual more than once. No one gave away excess amounts of reagents for free.

To my shock, after she had me draw the circle with a quill on a piece of parchment, both the reference one she first gave me and the practice one I had drawn disintegrated and vanished.

“What the…?”

“This is the type of magic very few will ever learn or ever should,” the Weaver said, a hint of a threat in her voice. “This knowledge is now seared into your mind. See that you never share it with anyone.”

I didn’t need her to add the ‘or else’ part of her statement.

“I won’t,” I replied in a subdued tone.

She gave me a stiff nod before relaxing her stance. “As I stated, Cornelius cannot know what is happening. Therefore, once you have drawn the circle and spoken the incantation, you must observe it for a response. If the edges glow orange or red, you must pause the summon.”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“If Cornelius is awake, focused on Pharos, or wanting to use his powers, he will feel his absence if he’s been summoned away. Should that happen, it will completely end all your chances of freeing him,” she explained.

“I see. But how do I pause it? I’ve never done such a thing before.”

“Speak this word of power, and then wait for the color to change back to a light blue. But be aware that the wait could be minutes or hours. There is also the slight possibility that he will not respond to your summon. This is not like invoking a demon with the intent of enslaving him. It is an invitation that can be declined or that he can walk away from whenever he sees fit.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. It never once entered my mind that he might not answer the call. “But how does the circle know when the time is appropriate for him to answer?”

“The circle doesn’t. The Reaper does.”

“So he’s the one changing the color?” I asked with sudden understanding.

She nodded. “It is his way of telling you to wait. Red means a long wait whereas orange indicates a shorter one.”

A wave of relief flooded through me. It would still suck to be stuck to potentially be staring at a summoning circle for hours while waiting for him to finally show up, but at least I would know he intended to do so.

“But wait, what if he doesn’t want to come at all?” I asked.

She smiled, the glimmer of approval in her golden eyes doing strange things to me. “Then the blue glow will fade like a switch getting turned off.”

I raised an eyebrow to have her refer to the recent technology called electricity that had been spreading alongside all the steam operated machinery. She didn’t have any of those modern tools and gadgets. For some reason, I had not expected her to know much about any of it. But then, I doubted anything in this world and beyond was actually a secret for her.

“Remember that you must convince him to trust you . You must be undaunted and steadfast in your determination. Pharos will put much on the line if he agrees to collaborate with you. Do not fail. There will be no second chances.”

“I won’t,” I said, excitement bubbling within me.

The oddest expression fleeted over her timeless features. To my surprise, she didn’t speak another word but simply turned her back on me. The stool she was sitting on silently glided back in front of the spinning wheel, and she began spinning more thread.

My confusion as to what to do next was quickly settled by the door opening behind me. Realizing I’d been properly dismissed, I rose to my feet and quietly walked out of her house. As the door closed behind me, I saw my chair sliding back to its original position by the entrance.

With the sun beginning to lower on the horizon, I raced back to the comfortable little house I had rented by the Fey Woods. As I had hoped, that intentional choice paid off. There was a reason the owner promoted it as the perfect getaway location for arcane practitioners. I knew exactly which fairy ring to use for the summoning. I secured my horse in the small stables. Despite my burning urge to head out right away, I forced myself to bide my time, have a light dinner, and even take a quick bath.

Cornelius was a night owl. He wouldn’t be in bed for a while still. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention by setting up the circle too early and then just sitting around waiting for the Reaper to answer my call. By the time the clock struck ten, I was on the verge of climbing the walls. Giving in to impatience, I began the short journey into the neighboring forest and down to the fairy ring located a stone’s throw away from a small river.

Pausing to set up wards around a wide radius of my chosen location helped burn through some time, although nowhere near enough. It was barely a few minutes past eleven when I finished drawing the circle—whose design had truly been permanently seared into my mind.

A thrill coursed through me as I began to recite the incantation. The foreign words rolled off my tongue with an ease that genuinely took me aback. Granted, I was no novice when it came to the dark arts. But this ritual was in a language I had never heard before. I didn’t doubt the Weaver played a part in this. I had not felt her casting any spells on me. And yet, she had somehow imprinted that design in my mind and those words on my tongue.

I squashed the sense of unease attempting to rear its head with questions as to what else she might have secretly done to me that might prove less favorable and focused on the task at hand.

As soon as I pronounced the last word, a whooshing sound resonated at my feet, akin to the sound made when throwing a match in front of an open gas burner. The dull gray color of the ‘not salt’ grains I had spread around to draw the circle began to glow as if lit from within. A wave of power radiated from it, like a wild animal ready to leap out.

Heart pounding with a mix of dread and excitement, I cast a protection spell on myself while waiting anxiously for my guest to appear.

But the white glow of the circle suddenly turned red. My jaw dropped, and my shoulders slumped. The relief I should have felt at this additional reprieve before facing the unknown that could totally change the course of my future never came. The depth of the disappointment that descended over me was nearly crushing.

Casting it aside, I spoke the word of power to pause the summon, as per the Weaver’s instructions. The entire circle suddenly started pulsing at a terribly slow pace, although retaining its red glow.

Defeated, I settled down on the grass in front of the circle and began the long wait.