A Plague of Shadows (8 page)

She dug her toes against the familiar floor. This was home. How was she to give it up? For so long she’d thought about leaving home and starting a life of her own, but it had always been under different circumstances. Either Leona would have been older and able to handle more of the chores, or her father would have somehow been miraculously cured.

But now, it just felt like she was leaving when there was so much that wasn’t ready for her to leave. Who would tend the bees? If her father did, would he catch the shadow plague too? Who would make sure the fire was built every day? Her father wasn’t strong enough to keep Hafaress’ Hearth going all the time, that’s why she and Leona did it more often than not. If the hearth went out, would the darklings come for him?

But the darklings already came despite all of our protections.

Bile swirled in Abagail’s stomach and her head felt faint. She lowered her head into her hands and tried not to think about all that needed tending. She didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t learn to control this plague, it would consume her, and then kill her family.

Maybe he will let Leona stay with him,
she thought. But that wasn’t right either. Would Abagail really beg for Leona to stay, knowing that the darkling could be outside, knowing that they would come at any time and maybe. . . .?

She couldn’t think of that
either
, because if she thought of
that
then she’d realize just how much danger her father was in.

But why wouldn’t he come with them? What did he still have to look after that was so important he might risk his life to see it through?

She shook her head and stood with a sigh. She’d never gone further than town before, let alone to another world.
They’re real,
was all she could think.
The world of fire, the world of ice, the world of the gods, the world of wyrd,
they were all real to her now, not just myths and legends.

What was she to pack? She started with a couple changes of clothes, not really paying attention to if they matched or not. Half an hour later she was packed, and the bag was small. So obscene that so much of her life could be dwindled down to one, half-full bag, but there it was.

She got dressed in her warmest breaches and a heavy tunic. Not all of the worlds would be summer, right? Abagail had to imagine that one of the worlds might be winter, and maybe that’s what she was going toward. She packed an extra set of warmer clothes, in case they followed Eget Row to an ice world.

Abagail still couldn’t believe any of it was real. And as if it had read her mind, the purple butterfly fluttered down from the rafters to alight on her bag. It was glowing an odd effervescence, illuminating her burlap sack in plum relief.

She reached for the butterfly, but it fluttered away, out of her reach, but still close enough that she could see it well. It was
just
a butterfly, for now, but it had been something more before, it had been a fairy, she was sure of it.

Part of Abagail’s mind thought that she would go to the mirror and try to step through and it would
just
be a mirror. Nothing would lay beyond, no Eget Row, no nine worlds, no . . .
bubbling surface.
The surface had bubbled, and she had seen the butterfly come out of the mirror.
Something
had to lay beyond it.

Abagail slung her pack over her shoulder, her eye catching the blackened veins of corruption that lead up her hand and toward her wrist. She tucked the hand in a pocket and closed her bedroom door behind her. To her left she heard the faint sounds of Leona crying. She turned toward her sister’s room and could just see her blond head raising enough to glimpse each other through the door.

Leona stood, went to the door and closed it softly.

Abagail understood. There was a lot of growing up that had to happen, and Leona was learning that now. It just stung that Leona didn’t think she could trust in Abagail to help her through it.

She pushed the thought away and strode down the hall to the living room.

When Abagail entered the sitting room once more, it was with the purple butterfly on her shoulder, and a bag in her hand. She stopped short when she noticed the hammer laying across Rorick’s legs.
The one from the room,
she thought.

Rorick was staring at it in confusion.

“But, why are you giving it to me if it’s an heirloom, shouldn’t you give it to Abagail?” Rorick was asking. Her father took a breath, but Abagail cut in.

“I can’t lift it anyway,” she said. It stung. Rorick was right. It was an heirloom.
Was it?
She’d never heard that before and she’d seen it so infrequently that she had forgotten all about the weapon until she’d seen it in the study earlier. It stung, she felt a twinge of annoyance. That should be hers. But she was right, she couldn’t lift it, and she was being childish. Maybe Leona wasn’t the only one who had some growing up to do.

“It’s better suited for you, anyway. Who knows what it would do to Abagail now that she has the shadow plague,” her father said, his voice faltering on his daughter’s affliction.

“What do you mean?” Abagail asked, coming to stand behind an empty chair facing the fireplace.

“This hammer,” Dolan said, pointing to the leather wrapped handle and the iron head. “Has a special power. It was gifted to my many-times great grandfather, and it had a sorcery placed upon it. It is to protect the one who carries it against the threat of shadow. At the time, there was only talk of darklings, mostly just legends people had handed down since who knows when. But now that the darklings are around, and so many people are looking in their own closests for someone who possesses sorcery and might be a darkling, I thought it best to keep it hidden away, not to tell anyone about it.”

“You didn’t want to tell us about this bewyrded hammer, but you have no issue speculating other issues with Leona that might get us all thrown into the light of the Waking Eye?” Abagail tried to make it sound like a joke, but her voice only came out sounding sick and strained.

“There were reasons for that, you two needed to have an open mind about these things. I knew from Agaranth that not all is black and white when it comes to the shadow, but these forces such as the hammer possesses can be felt by some of the Light Guard.”

“What would it do to Abagail?” Rorick asked, staring at the hammer on his knees as if it were a poisonous snake that would strike if he dared to move.

He might have to use it on me,
Abagail thought. “Don’t tell him. If the time comes he has to kill me, I’d rather him not know what will happen.”

Rorick looked at her, his face suddenly going white and his eyes wide. It was the wildest she’d ever seen his blue eyes, and the craziest.

“Who really knows anyway?” Dolan shrugged and then sighed. “And stop focusing on him having to kill you, it won’t help either of you get through what you’re about to go through.”

“The mirror?” Leona asked from the hallway. Her sister’s sudden appearance made Abagail jump.

“Not just the mirror, but yes, you are going through the mirror.”

“What is that going to be like? What will happen?” Abagail asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She hoped it would calm her hammering heart, or hold the tears in check. There was just so much uncertainty, and she was worried for her father. Would he survive? Was the darkling still out there?

“It’s different for each person. But we are wasting time, you must leave, but before you do, I have something for you Abagail,” Dolan said, and stood with the help of his cane. He went into the kitchen and rustled around in their broom closet. Abagail watched from where she stood in the living room, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw a fake wall she’d never known about open up behind the broom. Her father pulled out an object wrapped in white cloth, stained yellow with age. He brought the bundle to her.

As Abagail took the object, the dingy cloth fell away to reveal a leather scabbard, inlaid with runes like on the table in the study. The leather felt warm to her, as if the steel held within it carried a heartbeat of power. She gripped the leather-wrapped pommel and drew the short sword.

“I figured this would be more your style,” he said. “Not as bulky or heavy as the hammer. It was the one I trained with as a boy. I’ve kept the edge sharp.”

Overcome with emotions, she pulled her father into a tight embrace, the merest of tears slipping from her eyes. Dolan hugged her tight, and pulled Leona into their circle of arms.

Abagail winced when Dolan dragged the stone dagger across his palm. Blood spilled out between his fingers. His jaws bunched as he ground his teeth against the pain. He flattened his palm against the runes at the top of the mirror, and let the blood trickle down the surface.

“Agaranth,” he whispered, and the mirror began to bubble and boil as Abagail had seen it do before, when the purple butterfly now resting on Leona’s shoulder had come through.

Dolan stepped backwards off the round table, and looked around at the mess of the room. He shook his head and turned to his oldest daughter. Abagail refused to meet his eyes, and instead studied the golden light issuing through the only window in the room, painting the floor with the light of the Waking Eye, despite the fact that it was nighttime, and storming, outside of their home.

Dolan followed her gaze and smiled softly, but didn’t offer any words of explanation about the strange window, and what kind of world might lay beyond the glass. He pulled a length of cloth from his belt and bound his wound.

Abagail dragged her eyes back to the mirror on the table and wondered at how it bubbled. If that was a portal of sorts to Eget Row and an opening to the nine worlds, didn’t that make the mirror sorcery? If the mirror wasn’t made by darklings, then it must have been made by the Gods.

I wonder if all the myths are real. The Nine Worlds. Will I meet elves? Dwarves?
Her mind turned dark then.
What if I stumble into the fire land of giants and demons? Dark elves or frost giants?
She closed her eyes against the thought. Dolan misread the action and gripped her shoulder tight.

“You’ll be fine,” Dolan said. “Mattelyn is family, and she will take care of you as well as I have.”

But Abagail wondered at how long her father had been away from Agaranth and what might have changed with her aunt in the meantime. Was she still triumphant over the shadow plague?

Will she hold secrets from me too?
She wondered wanting to pull away from her father, but she fought the urge. She opened her eyes and stared into her father’s patient blue ones. He was still her father, no matter how many secrets he’d kept from her and how many more he might be keeping.

“This is an adventure!” Dolan said. He pulled Leona closer to himself. “And don’t worry about me, as long as I have the Hearth and the Ore of the Sleeping Eye on the door, I will be safe.”

The emblem on the door hadn’t kept the darkling out today,
Abagail thought, but didn’t say anything because her father’s words of reassurance seemed to lighten Leona’s sadness, and that was more important to Abagail right then than being right.

She gazed over at Rorick, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of them at the moment. Instead he was looking at the mirror that the butterfly was now perched on. Abagail nodded and stepped away from her father.

“We should be leaving,” she said.

“Yes, before the mirror closes and I have to slice the other palm open,” Dolan said.

“Who goes first?” Leona asked, but Rorick was already stepping up on to the table. As if sensing they were about to leave, the butterfly took wing, and slipped through the murky surface of the mirror as if it was nothing more than air.

Rorick held down his hand to Abagail. She tried to give him her clean hand, and hide the shadow marked one, but he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her up on the table. She checked her sword at her hip to make sure it was there, though she could feel its weight on the belt. She reached behind her and grasped Leona’s hand, pulling her sister up beside her.

Leona was her only family right now, the only family going with her, and the only family she knew. No matter how she thought Leona needed to grow up she vowed to keep her by her side.

With everything she’d learned this night, who’s to say that Skuld wasn’t real, and Leona wasn’t able to talk to her?

“Ready?” Rorick asked.

“Yes!” Leona said, now smiling. It was amazing how easily she believed their father would be safe. Abagail forced a smile, knowing that Dolan was in true danger while he stayed in the house.

She looked back at her father.

“I will be fine. I survived forty-three in the nine worlds, I will survive this,” he told her.

Despite not wanting to believe him as easily as Leona did, Abagail couldn’t help but be heartened by his words. With a sigh she turned back to the mirror, and felt a thrill in her heart.

“Ok,” Abagail said.

Rorick and Leona stepped as one into the darkened mirror, and Abagail felt herself pulled in with them.

She crested the surface of the mirror, feeling the cool moisture of the wyrd slip over her like a thin wall of water. It startled her, bringing a gasp from her lips and a lurch to her stomach.