A Plague of Shadows (3 page)

Just like in the well,
she thought.

She should never have come in here. She should have closed the door and been done with it. She was
foolish
for thinking that anything good could have come from sneaking in here. This was probably what her father had been trying to keep them from, this scrying mirror with the darkling trapped inside.

The surface bubbled out toward her, roiled like she’d seen boiling water do.

Abagail screwed her eyes shut and turned her head away, refusing to watch.
Why is that mirror here?
She wondered, but it didn’t matter. The truth was, it
was
there, and she
shouldn’t
be.

If she made it out of the room alive, she would never,
ever
go against her father’s wishes again.

Maybe that’s what made someone an adult, not being older but knowing when to
act
older.

All Father, please turn your Waking Eye on me, and chase away this darkness,
she prayed.

And then there was a chime so slight she almost didn’t hear it over the thrum of her heart. But she felt a change in the room. It was a good change. Instantly her heart seemed to calm, and the room was flooded with light.

When Abagail opened her eyes it was to the welcome sight of sunlight flooding through the window to bathe the stacks of dusty books and aged vellums with yellowed light. But what was more, there was something else in the room with her.

A butterfly.

There it rested, right on the scrying mirror, its iridescent purple wings treading the air languidly. With bated breath, Abagail neared the butterfly. She didn’t want to scare the creature, but she also wanted to see it better.

The wings shimmered in the light of the sun that cut a swath across the black surface of the mirror. The wings were transparent with an odd rim of plum coloring along the edges.

It most certainly wasn’t like any butterfly she’d ever seen before.

The butterfly lifted from the surface of the glass, and fluttered over the top of the mirror and out of sight. Abagail followed, trying to see where the butterfly had gone, but it had just landed on her father’s old hammer. It was a large hammer, with a wooden handle wrapped in leather, and an iron head. It was too heavy for Abagail to lift when she was younger and her father had laughed at her every time she’d tried. Now she didn’t have the desire to even try lifting it.

As she neared the butterfly again, her foot caught against something on the floor, and she looked down to see an object covered with a faded red sheet. She knelt down before it and lifted away the covering to see a painting.

It was the Tree at Eget Row.

Abagail’s breath caught in her throat. She pulled the sheet away violently, and lifted the painting up onto the round table. There the tree was, filling up the entire painting with the well around its base depicted as a thin silver line. Was that someone standing on the rim of the well, or was it just her imagination?

She squinted to see, but that didn’t help.

Once her surprise at seeing the tree passed, Abagail could see the nine worlds hanging in the branches of the tree. Each of them were different, some nothing more than mist that seemed to swirl with liquidity even though it was just a painting. There were others, closer to the top that were filled with nothing but light.

But the one closest to the bottom drew her attention. It was red, like fire. As she studied it Abagail was certain she could see flames lapping around the edge of the world. Inside the sphere she could see a boat rocking in some fiery lake. Somehow Abagail could make out passengers on the boat, struggling against unseen bonds, trying to free themselves from the ship and the torments it held. They appeared pale, almost dead. She almost thought she could hear them scream.

A coldness formed in the pit of her stomach that seemed to chase away the warmth of the room.

She closed her eyes to steady herself and clear her mind. When she opened them again she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. A rainbow connected each of the nine worlds like a bridge between them, a way for one person to travel to the next world it was said. This was the rainbow bridge known as Eget Row, and legend stated people could travel along it and to all of the worlds.

The painting was too much for her. No matter how entranced she was by it, it haunted her with visions of the dream.

But before she could put the painting down, other images grew along the surface. One was a giant white wolf.

Beside the wolf was a root of the Tree at Eget Row, growing up out of the ground. Affixed to the tree was a gossamer thin leash that held the wolf in check. It was necessary, because the wolf looked hungry, and it was baying at the moon. No, that wasn’t precisely correct, it was
reaching
for the moon, as if it longed to pluck it from the heavens.

And then another bloom of paint appeared, and as she watched before her grew the image of a woman, legs splayed open. From within the recesses of her womb slithered a snake, coming out of her like any other child might.

Bile rose in Abagail’s throat, and she thumped the painting back down, throwing the dusty sheet over it.

“Come on,” she said to the butterfly, not bothering to think she sounded crazy for talking to an insect. As if the butterfly heard her, it lifted up off the hammer and alighted on her shoulder.

Abagail eased the door open and peered outside into the common room of the second floor. No one was there. She could hear her father downstairs clunking around dishes, and Leona was singing in her bedroom as she prepared for their chores.

With a sigh, Abagail stepped out of the room and latched the door firmly behind her.

Was it her imagination, or did she hear a whisper as the door hushed shut.

Helvegr.

Dolan was clearing up the breakfast dishes when Abagail entered the common room. When he heard her enter he stopped whistling and turned to her. She couldn’t remember her father looking so old before. Now that she knew what was in his room, she searched for signs that he might be anything other than the father she’d known all her life. He had gray hair coming in on his beard, and some peppered throughout his reddish hair, but nothing odd.

She waited for him to scold her for going into his private room. His study was directly above where he was standing now, drying off a plate and watching her. Had he heard her footsteps? Had he heard the pile of scrolls fall? Her heart hammered waiting for him to speak.

Thank the All Father the butterfly had vanished into the rafters once they’d stepped out of the study.

“I think the bees are getting sick,” Dolan said.

Abagail’s let out the breath she’d been holding.

“They aren’t producing the amount of honey that they should be, and I’ve been finding some dead ones around the hive. I want you to check on them today, and if there’s enough honey you can collect it too.”

“Alright,” Abagail said, hoping he didn’t hear the hammering of her heart in her shaky voice.

When he turned back to his work, Abagail closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her father started whistling again, and she took that as her cue to leave.

The door thudded shut behind her, and the brightness of the day nearly blinded her. It was hot, she’d been right about that. She was already sweating from struggling into the protective uniform, and the heat only made it worse.

Leona was already filling a bucket at the well, humming away. The sunlight shined off her blond hair and her pale skin almost glowed in the morning light. When she heard the door thud closed she turned and smiled. Leona finished with her water, and intercepted Abagail on her way to the fire pit that was already burning in the center of the yard.

“Skuld told me about your dream last night,” Leona said, resting the bucket of water on the ground beside her sister. She wiped a hand over her wet brow and squinted at Abagail.

“Well maybe Skuld could tell me, I don’t remember having any dream,” Abagail lied, coming to a stop.

“Are you sure?” Leona asked. Her green eyes studied Abagail’s face.

“I think I’d remember,” Abagail said.

“Why do you get like that when I speak of Skuld?” Leona questioned, picking up a pace beside Abagail when she started walking away from the house and toward the fire pit her father kept burning during the day.
Warding against the darklings,
Abagail thought, a shiver taking her.

“Because it’s dangerous, Leo,” Abagail said, coming to a halt when she realized she wasn’t going to get rid of her sister so easily. “Do you know what the priests of the Light Guard call those who have visions?”

Leona looked to her feet, suddenly very interested in a stone she was trying to pry loose from the ground with the toe of her boot.

“Darklings,” Abagail said. “And what do they do with darklings?”

“Burn them,” Leona mumbled.

“Yes, they purify them in the light of the All Father’s Waking Eye,” Abagail said. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Leo.”

“Father believes me.” Leona crossed her arms over her chest.

“I know, but it’s dangerous is all. Speak of it all you want in the house, but not outside. Vilda only knows who might be listening.” When Abagail spoke the name of the Goddess of Wisdom, Leona looked skyward, as if maybe she might see the golden haired deity. When Leona didn’t say anything, Abagail sighed. “I’m sorry that I’m so hard on you,” she conceded.

“It’s ok Abbie,” Leona said, looking back to her older sister. She blinked away tears. Abagail’s heart went out to her sister, stuck in that age between being a child and being an adult. She knew that it wasn’t like an adult to cry, and so she was trying not to. “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe.”

“Us,” Abagail said. “I’m trying to keep all of us safe. Father is too easy on what he lets us talk about. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I just wish that you wouldn’t act like it’s ok.”

“But what’s wrong with it?” Leona asked.

Abagail frowned. “I don’t have time to talk about this now, Father wants to make sure there’s nothing wrong with the bees, and you need to get the rest of the water into the house for the day.”

“Talk about it later?” Leona asked.

“No, we won’t,” Abagail said, rubbing her sisters’ shoulders to soften the harsh words. “We shouldn’t. But yes, I did dream last night, and we can discuss that, just keep Skuld out of it, ok?”

Leona’s smile split her face. “Deal!” And just like that, as if the conversation hadn’t nearly brought her to tears, Leona jogged off toward the house, humming as she went. Abagail didn’t know the tune, she just hoped it wasn’t something strange that would get them in trouble.

She considered how her father let them talk about whatever they wanted. He often engaged them in talk about the Gods that was frowned down upon by the Light Guard, and he even went so far as to encourage Leona’s obscene interest in visions.

It was all starting to make sense now that Abagail had found the room. Was her father a darkling? The thought of the darkling came to her mind then. She’d always thought they were nothing but shadows of people, those that lost their souls when the first fires came from the heavens, but that certainly wasn’t always the case, was it?

The Light Guard burns regular people they accuse of being darklings,
Abagail thought. She’d seen it with her own eyes, which meant it was completely possible that Dolan—

No,
Abagail cut off the thought, stopping before the fire and feeling the increased heat through the uniform. An anvil and a small hammer rested before the blaze, a small altar to Hafaress, the God of the forge.
Father wouldn’t have these things around the house if he was a darkling.

The thought eased her mind a little. Darklings couldn’t abide holy relics. She’d seen
that
first hand too.

She turned back to the house, looking for the silver and red disk hanging above the door. The symbol of the All Father, the red half depicting the sun, and the silver the moon. Dolan wouldn’t be able to stay in the house if he was a darkling.

But if Father isn’t a darkling, then that means visions and all the miracles that are supposed to be of the Gods alone aren’t evil if practiced by humans,
she thought.