Awakenings

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

                Thordin plunged forward into the mists where Orcus had vanished.  Matt struggled to remember how to breathe, gasping in a pair of breaths before he reached for his friend.

                “Don’t bother,” Matt said, his voice shaky.  “He’s gone.”

                Thordin glanced back, brow furrowing.  “You can’t be sure of that.”

                “And yet, I am.”  Matt swallowed hard, his other hand tightening around the haft of his warhammer.  “Why is it always three days, Thordin?”

                “What?”  Thordin turned fully, moving back to where Matt stood in the drifting, chill fog.

                “It’s always three days,” Matt murmured, then shivered and shook his head.  “Damn.  I—damn.”

                “Matt?”

                He squeezed stinging eyes shut.  How do I tell her?  How can I tell her that her friend’s life hangs on what she does next—something I can’t let her do, for all of our sakes?

                The fog was starting to lift.  He could hear her footsteps alongside Carolyn’s, moving toward them through the clearing mist.  He sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders.  Thordin reached out, grasping one.

                “Matt,” he said gently.  “I can tell her.”

                “No,” he said.  “No, it needs to be me.  It needs to come from me.”

                Thordin’s hand fell away.  “As long as you’re sure.”

                Not by a longshot.  “I am.”

                He turned toward the sound of his wife’s voice and started walking.  Hecate and Carolyn came into view a few seconds later as the mist continued to thin.  Matt’s throat got tight all over again.

                She’s going to see it written all over your face.

                The worry was already there, though, even before he and Thordin came into view.  Hecate let go of Carolyn, moving toward him quickly, reaching for his hands.

                “What is it?” she asked.  “What’s wrong?”

                Matt’s jaw tightened.  He caught her hand, answering as he kept walking.

                “We have three days before Orcus comes here with an army.  We’ve got work to do.”

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

Hecate’s fingers dug hard into the flesh of his arm, so hard that he made a noise in protest.  She didn’t seem to hear, her eyes wide and staring out into the mists.

“Did—did you—?” the question came as a bare, reedy whisper, almost too quiet to hear even as her fingers tightened even more in the fabric of his sleeve.  The keening grew louder and the chill in the air deepened, accompanied by the scent of freshly turned earth.  Matt tensed.

Has something been digging out here?  Is that why this is happening?

“I heard it,” Carolyn said, her voice just barely louder than Hecate’s.  “Who is it?  Do—do we know?”

“It’s Persephone,” Hecate said weakly.  “I would know her voice anywhere.  But—but I don’t understand.  If he’s got her, how is she here?”

“If who’s got her?”  Carolyn asked in confusion.  Thordin just cursed softly under his breath.

“Does it matter?  She’s asking for our help.  Where the hell is she out in this damn fog?”

“Breathe, mo chroí,” Matt whispered to her.  “Focus.”

The keening grew louder.  They didn’t hear the voice again—if Persephone was still out there, she either hadn’t spoken again or the wails drowned out her voice.  It was hard to tell which was more likely, harder still to tell if there actually anyone or anything else physically out there with them or if it was just magic being flung from afar.

She was trembling against him, her fingers gripping tight enough to bruise.  Matt didn’t care about that part—not about the bruises—but the look in her eye left him cold.

“Hecate.”

She blinked and finally looked at him, some of the panic leaving her gaze as she focused.  “I—sorry.  Sorry.”  She swallowed hard.  “I just—I was—I can’t—”

“Focus,” he said again.  “Please.  Is she here?  Can you tell?”

Hecate stared up at him, chest heaving as she sucked in air like someone drowning.  She was at least trying to calm down, which he hoped boded well.  “I don’t know,” she whispered.  “I can’t think.  I can’t—I can’t focus enough to tell.”

Matt swallowed hard, then gently disengaged her fingers from his arm.  “Stay with Carolyn.”

“What?” Hecate blinked at him.  “What are you doing?”

“Stay with Carolyn,” Matt said again, unslinging his hammer.  “Something’s wailing out there, and she might be trapped nearby if she’s calling for help.  Thordin and I will just have to find out.”

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

Matt’s heart threatened to beat right out of his chest as his arms closed around Hecate, holding her tightly against him.  Carolyn huddled close to both he and Thordin, her eyes wide.  Matt caught sight of a glimmer of white and blue—one of Carolyn’s sprites, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Care, have they seen anything?”

“Nothing that’s making sense based on their explanations,” she said, a thin tendril of fear threated through her voice.  Otherwise, she seemed remarkably steady, her hand drifting up to touch whatever was perched on her shoulder—whoever was perched on her shoulder.  “Something about singing the songs of the past.”

“That could aptly describe this wailing,” Thordin growled, peering out into the fog, his gaze scything from side to side.  “Though I can’t say it reads as a song to my ears.”

It felt could and seemed to grow colder.  Matt could swear he saw his breath steam, but it was hard to tell as the fog kept thickening around them, pressing in, pressing close.  There was the faint sense of magic to it, but nothing that felt inherently offensive or dangerous.

That on its own was almost more unnerving than the rest of the situation.

The fog seemed to swirl around them, as if it was somehow centered on them, as if it was coming from them.  It wasn’t—Matt knew that for certain—but he was equally certain that It meant something knew they were there, had maybe even been waiting for them.

Then a voice came through the fog, spectral, wavering, barely audible amidst the keening wail.

“Help me.”

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

                A fog rose around them as they ran, chill, almost electric, setting Matt’s hair on edge.  Part of him wanted to risk a glance at Thordin, a glance that would have contained a question, but he didn’t risk it.  Part of him was afraid of what he might see in Thordin’s face, another argued that looking would slow him down and that was the last thing he needed.

                Neither paused as they reached the Shakespeare Garden, simply charged on without hesitation.  The fog was thick around them, and muted flashes of light reflected through it.  They could hear it now, the keening wail.  It was almost but not quite a song.

                Matt’s heart seized.  It can’t be a bansidhe.  It can’t be.  It’s not that.  “Hecate!”

                “Here,” her voice called back.  “Down here.”

                He and Thordin were already charging down the hill.  The torches were glowing a bright blue, though faint, as if they were in danger of burning out.  That sent Matt’s heart slamming up into his throat.

                Fog swirled around them and the keen grew louder, though didn’t tip into howling.  Matt’s throat tightened as he plumbed the fog, half-blindly seeking Hecate.  She hadn’t made another sound since answering his call.  Now, as the fog thickened and the keen grew closer, Matt found he was worried about calling out to her again, about making any sound at all.

                There was a glow somewhere in the fog, something that was light and dark all at the same time.  It was close and growing closer, Matt could tell.

                His pace slowed.  Thordin bumped into him gently, but he, too, had slowed in the fog.  Matt could barely see his friend’s face, but somehow Thordin’s eyes were plainly visible—wild, bright, and somehow afraid but not afraid.

                Matt’s breath caught as he realized his own gaze must have mirrored Thordin’s.

                A hand caught his and squeezed.  Warmth shot through him, panic abating for only a second as he drew Hecate toward him, drawing Carolyn behind her.

                “What’s going on?” Carolyn whispered.  “Who is this?”

                “I’m not sure,” Hecate breathed.  “But I have my suspicions and some of them aren’t good.”