The Spirit Heir (29 page)

RHEN

~ THE GATES ~

Rhen was in chains. Wrists bound, feet bound, pulled from the back of a horse as he stumbled over broken pavement. Bits of stone tore into the soles of his feet, leaving a path of bloody footprints behind him.

"Jin." He coughed, looking to the woman beside him. But she had passed out minutes before. The horse dragged her lifeless, clothes tearing against the ground, copper skin growing black from dirt kicked up by the hooves.

More than anything, he wanted to reach down and help, to carry her, to hold her. But his hands were secured, pulled forward, and strain as he did, there was no release.

"She's hurt!" he cried, but his voice was scratchy and dry. Barely loud enough for him to hear. "Please!"

The rider gave no response.

They continued ceaselessly forward until Rhen began to recognize the view.

Rayfort.

The road was broken, the wall torn down, the homes burned to ash. But Rhen would always recognize his home. Bodies lay in the rubble, long since dead. Men. Women. Even children.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't.

This is all your fault,
his thoughts whispered
, all your fault.

A tear slid free, making a path down his cheek, but Rhen could not wipe it away, could not stop it.

The castle slipped into view. Bodies hung from the gates, but Rhen could not bear to look, he didn’t want to see his family, to lose all hope that someone might have gotten away.

You were supposed to be that someone.

He shook his head, dispelling the blame. But it was true. He was supposed to keep the bloodline alive, and even in that, he had failed.

The horse stopped. Rhen slammed into its backside before realizing, quickly regaining his balance, bending over to hold Jinji, to try his best to wake her. But her lids were closed, utterly still. Her chest barely rose and fell. Her pulse was slow. And the color quickly drained from her sun-blessed skin, growing far too pale, far too gray.

He kissed her, but even that got no response.

"Prince Whylrhen," a deep voice called.

Rhen looked up, gasping. An auburn colored horse stepped into view, coat broken by lash lines, skin torn away from the cuts. Ember. And there was no recognition in her eyes. As though the memory of Rhen had been beat out of her, forced away by the torture. And on her back, too big for such a gentle creature, rested King Razzaq. The crown of Whylkin sat heavily on his head.

"Welcome home," he said, grinning. Then he slid a golden sword from his waist, lifting it high overhead.

Rhen couldn't fight.

Couldn't move.

There was no ounce of fire left in his blood. So he waited, patient, as the blade caressed the air, swinging in a wide arc toward his neck…

Rhen's eyes burst open and he panted, chest aching, vein in his neck throbbing as his hands rose, blocking the imaginary sword.

A dream. It was just a dream.

Not real.

Not yet.

He closed his eyes, dropping his hands back to the mattress, and then opened them again. In. Out. In. Out. He tried to calm his body, to push the fear away. But as his breath began to slow and the real world slowly came back into focus, a tingle shivered up his spine.

Everything was too still.

Too silent.

"Jin?" he called, easing up on the mattress, stretching his sore muscles. Something felt completely wrong. Though he sat on a boat, the motions were absent, the undulation of water, the sounds of the sea. And most terrifying—there was no answer from above deck.

"Jin?" he tried again, standing. Perhaps she couldn’t hear him over the wind? Perhaps she had fallen asleep as well?

But as soon as he opened the hatch, Rhen gasped.

White.

Everywhere, surrounding him, everything was white stone. Rhen frowned, eyes glancing up to see the sky far away overhead. Glancing down, he saw turquoise water flowing gently and yet the boat did not move, not even in the slightest.

The Gates.

They had to be at the Gates—but how? Surely Rhen hadn't been asleep for that long. The weariness in his bones, the slight ache in his temples, and mostly the drowsiness still tugging on his thoughts—all of that pointed to a short sleep, not a long, rejuvenating rest.

Jumping over the rail, Rhen landed with a thud on solid rock, polished smooth beneath his fingers. Unnatural against such a rugged mountain landscape. Moving his hands closer to the edge of the boat, Rhen's skin froze, burning from the cold. Ice surrounded the wood, holding it still, keeping it in place.

But the air was warm around him, the waters just a few feet away moved freely. The ice too was unnatural, just like the stone. But Rhen had an idea of where it came from.

Jinji.

Just like the candles, just like the wind, she was controlling her gifts, pushing them to the limit. There was no other explanation. So where had she gone? Why had she left him?

"Jin!" he shouted, louder this time. But the only response was the echo of his voice.

Rhen stood, turning slowly around, stopping suddenly when his eyes landed on an archway in the wall. Peering closer, he made out steps carved from white stone. Shaking his head, Rhen walked to the opening, placing his hand against the surface. It was warm. And though the steps should have been dark from lack of sunlight, the path glowed with an inner radiance emanating from the rocks themselves.

He stepped back, mouth dropping.

The Gates were a place surrounded in myth. For his entire life, Rhen had heard the stories—that these mountains were the home of the gods, were the entrance to their realm, or the opposite, an entrance to the underworld, belonging to the dead. No matter what tale, the idea was the same—the mountains were a gateway to another world. That was where the name came from, but Rhen never believed it could be true. Not until now. Because the stone beneath his skin was alive. It thrummed with power. And the doorway was open, waiting for him.

Rhen swallowed.

You better be up there, Jin.

And then he stepped cautiously forward, placing one foot on the first step and pausing, waiting for something—a door to close behind him, a quake in the earth, a hidden arrow to pierce his heart. Something.

But after a few moments with no change, his pulse began to slow and his fear subsided, replaced by curiosity. Rhen took the steps two at a time, racing, smiling as his blood began to pump and a renewed sense of adventure filled his veins.

It felt good to do something.

Anything.

He'd had enough of sailing endlessly toward the horizon, no destination, no future, no hope. At least now he was moving, running with his own two feet, exhilarated. Rhen had no idea what waited at the top of the steps, but it almost didn’t matter. What mattered was the speck of life filling his heart, bringing him back from the brink.

This place was magical.

And the unknown force that filled the walls around him had leaked into his veins, filling Rhen with new light.

Still moving at full speed, though his chest burned and his breath came short, Rhen burst through the archway at the top of the steps, reining back his energy as the wide-open space of what appeared to be some sort of courtyard popped into view. There were no trees, no flowers, no grass—but it was a courtyard nonetheless, just like the one in front of the palace at Rayfort. White stone covered the floor and walls, was carved into a rail around the edge. Another archway rested across the way, but Rhen didn’t run toward it, instead he walked to the edge, looking down.

Far below, white caps from crashing waves decorated the sea. Steep cliffs of rock wove in and out, surrounding this perch. Far into the distance, the horizon waited, pale blue with hints of yellow from the sun. But even from this height, he could see no land, no sign of Whylkin.

Until spotting the water so far below, Rhen hadn’t realized how high he had climbed. The distance didn’t feel so great, but perhaps that was just another side effect of the magic in these rocks. They were in the center of the Gates, Rhen was certain, on the highest peak. But it was broken in two.

He looked to one side, to a rock archway leading to more steps.

He looked to the other, back where he had entered the courtyard, and saw another door with steps leading up.

Which way to choose?

Which direction?

As though answering his call, a gray mist appeared, out of place against so much ivory.

The phantom had returned once more. But this time was different. The shade was lighter, flickering, not as solid as before. The phantom did not swirl into the shape of a man, there was no pointing, no leading. It was just a cloud, barely there, being swept away in the breeze.

"Where do I go?" Rhen asked.

The mist shifted, gliding a few inches to the right, back toward the side Rhen had come from. After a few seconds, it disappeared—gray fading away until Rhen was alone once more.

But it was enough.

He stepped back toward the steps that brought him up and took the archway right beside them. For a while, everything was the same. White stone, the subtle glow, the endless circling.

But then the steps opened to a landing.

Rhen paused—continue up or take a moment to look around?

The choice was easy. He stepped through the archway and immediately wind whipped against his cheeks, making Rhen stumble. White stone surrounded him, no windows and no openings to the outside. Yet the wind grew stronger with every step he took down the long hallway.

Rhen squinted, trying to see what waited at the end of the corridor, but the wind was almost opaque, shielding everything from view as it pushed him against the walls, back and forth, until finally Rhen fell, landing hard on his bottom. A strong gust pressed into his side, rolling him over, flipping him, until he got the message.

Whatever the room was—he was not welcome.

Off balance, Rhen dragged himself back to the steps, realizing he had only managed to step a few feet into the space. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the wind stopped. The world was completely still. Not even a hair on his head moved.

Cautiously, Rhen slipped his hand back through the arch. Instantly, it was thrown to the side and back out to where he sat on the steps.

Strange
, he thought, lifting his hands before his eyes and bending his fingers. Where did the wind come from? Why?

Glancing toward the steps, Rhen stood. He had nowhere else to go but up, so he climbed. Round and round, losing count of the steps beneath his feet. And then a blue glow broke through the monotonous white, shimmering over the steps. Rhen raced higher, stopping dead when he realized where the light was coming from.

An archway made of water.

Impossible.

Yet there it was. Flowing and fluid, as though a sheet of perfectly clear glass held it back, kept it from cascading down the steps. Rhen reached out to feel the invisible material holding the water in place, but his hands passed through the arch and sunk into the liquid.

He yanked his fingers back.

Clear drops slid from his palm. Wet.

But Rhen could swim, so he let the intrigue get the best of him and stripped off his shirt before diving headfirst through the door.

For a moment, he winced, anticipating the impact of a hard stone floor. But Rhen landed as one would in the ocean, surrounded by a pool of water that slid easily across his limbs, bubbling under his movement. Pumping his arms, he swam.

And swam.

And swam.

But nothing broke through the blue, no exit, no door, no end in sight. And his breath was running low. So he turned, eyes set on the shimmer of white in the distance as he made his way back.

Gulping in air, Rhen burst through the archway and landed hard on the steps, tumbling down a few before regaining his balance. As he caught his breath, his mind began to spin.

First air.

Then water.

What would be next?

Rhen's blood burned, already anticipating the warm heat of fire. Were these tests? Was there an alley of flames only someone like him could walk through?

Rhen ran, taking the steps two at a time until he came to another landing. This time, the arch was blocked by twisting green vines.

Earth.

He didn't bother to stop. He knew what came next.

Rhen saw the orange glow before he saw the archway. So he was not surprised when he circled round the steps, greeted by a door of raging flames.

Fire.

His fire.

Rhen grinned, showing no hesitation as he stepped through the arch and into the heat, letting the flames lick and burn his skin. Everywhere he looked, fire swarmed, flickering, smoldering. Crackling pops filled his ears and his clothes burned away almost instantly. Even his skin began to sweat.

Rhen breathed in and pulled.

The torrent answered his call, funneling under his skin, filling him to the brim with lava, molten in his veins. But still, the fires around him burned strong. So Rhen pulled again. More heat pummeled his body, surging below his skin, not wanting to be contained.

But when he opened his eyes, there was no change. No pause. The fire was just as strong and just as pervasive. So Rhen did the only other thing he could think of—he walked.

The tunnel seemed to lead nowhere—either that or Rhen could not see through the flames. They were everywhere, covering everything. Even the white stone had disappeared from sight.

But he kept pressing forward.

Not stopping.

Not pausing.

Until a small break in the flames hinted at a doorway in the distance.

He ran—too afraid to think, to hope, to dream of what might be waiting for him at the end. But when he burst through the exit, skin red and sweaty, cool air was all he felt. A white stone room surrounded him, a small entry filled with only a box.