With every step she became increasingly certain she would die in these tunnels, never to be seen again, except perhaps by some future explorer. Even if, by some chance, they won, Alena wasn’t sure she could make the trek back to the surface.
She found the acceptance of certain death offered a certain clarity. If living wasn’t possible, all that remained was to die well.
The hallway from the first chamber seemed to stretch on forever. She shuffled forward, knife gripped tightly in her left hand. She suddenly laughed, the sound echoing in the silent tunnel. When she found the battle, she realized she wouldn’t exactly cut an imposing figure.
Perhaps there was a hint of madness growing in her.
She didn’t care. Anyone who had gone through what she had today would suffer the same. A mind could only accept so much newness, and she had found that limit before even entering the impossible structure she now wandered through.
The door to the next chamber grew ever larger, illuminated by a blue light from deeper within. When she stumbled through the door, ready to fight, she was surprised by what she found.
The room was empty except for Kye, who lay motionless in a horrifying position, his face frozen in a look of terror. Alena paused, taking the scene in. Kye’s blades lay on the stone floor, both of them covered in blood.
Somehow, Brandt had won.
Her cheeks flushed with pride. She’d seen what Kye was capable of years ago. She imagined his power had only grown stronger.
But Brandt had killed him. He had revenged his wolfblades and the loss of his memory.
Her eye fell on the trail of blood that ran around Kye’s body and into the next chamber.
It was a lot of blood.
More than anyone could afford to lose.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. None of them had been certain they would survive.
But they would finish this as well as they were able.
The light from the next room suddenly increased in intensity. The blue became almost white. The gate was in there, and something had happened.
Alena shuffled as quickly as she could, skirting around the edges of Brandt’s blood.
She froze when the tableau revealed itself to her. Brandt lay on the floor, blood pooling around his body. She could sense him breathing, but his breath came in ragged gasps. He didn’t have long to live. One of his hands was clenched tightly around something.
It had to be Kye’s gatestone.
Two soulwalkers were in the room. One was on her knees, eyes closed, concentrating. The other had her hand on the gate, her face contorting in ecstasy.
She couldn’t take on two soulwalkers on her own.
A pit of despair suddenly opened up below her. She collapsed to her knees, the power of the emotion holding her in thrall. But even as the feeling crashed over her, she recognized it as foreign.
Alena closed her eyes and activated her gatestone. There was a resistance there, a pressure she’d never felt before. But she visualized her father’s knife, cutting through the murky blackness. Then she felt the connection with the gatestone.
The connection unlocked another wave of sensation, but not all of these came from the soulwalker. The room itself exploded with power. Alena surrendered to it. She allowed herself to simply observe the currents.
And then she was in a desert. She noticed Brandt, wrapped up tightly in a weave the soulwalker had snared him in. The other soulwalker dove deep into the power of the gate, their energies linked in a complex web.
Alena turned her attention to the soulwalker who ensnared Brandt and sought to do the same with her. Threads of will extended from the woman, reaching toward Alena.
Alena observed them.
And she hated them.
As they reached toward her she voiced a mental command, uttered with all the strength she could draw from her own will and that of the gatestone.
No.
The strands stopped in midair and died. The soulwalker rocked back, her eyes wide. She flung out black darts, but like the strands, they died before coming close to Alena.
Alena turned her attention to Brandt. The wolfblade was dying, but he deserved a better death. Her father’s knife appeared in her hand, and she stabbed at the web surrounding him. The strands peeled away, the net decaying with her touch.
The soulwalker screamed, a piercing shriek of agony.
Alena realized that she wasn’t just cutting into the strands. In this place, the strands and the darts were a part of the soulwalker.
Alena reinforced her will, then opened her eyes. Brandt still lay unmoving, but his breath came much easier. The soulwalker on her knees had fallen over, but was coming to her feet, a long knife in her hand. Alena knew she didn’t have a chance against the woman. All she had was her left arm.
She kneeled down, reaching down to touch Brandt. “I need you, Brandt. I can’t do this on my own.”
Brandt groaned, but that was all. She imagined she could feel the life draining from him, his soul preparing for its journey to the gate.
She couldn’t let that happen. Brandt could die, but only when they had stopped the Lolani.
The soulwalker was on her feet now, stepping toward them, knife raised above her head, ready to finish the fight with cold steel.
Alena closed her eyes. Her only useful weapon was her soul.
Holding on to Brandt, she pushed her will through the gatestone, the connection and the passage to a different plane easier with every attempt.
She and Brandt stood on the rooftops of Landow, the soulwalker appearing confused a few paces away.
Brandt appeared to share her confusion.
Alena thought she understood. “This is my home,” she said. Movement caught her eye. A wave of strands rushed at them, but with a thought, Alena stopped them. As they fell, Alena noticed many more on the ground. She even saw those she had cut from Brandt. So much the same as the desert, and yet
