Thornton
“Tell them what you told me,” Alysana demanded.
They were all gathered in the small, dark room at the Broken Scabbard, and Thornton was feeling cramped. He looked at the cloaked stranger standing before him, and a feeling of familiarity washed over him. The man had features that Thornton thought he recognized but couldn’t quite place. It put him on edge.
“You’ll have to narrow it down.” The stranger grinned. His accent was thick with Khôl, which made his words drip like syrup off his tongue.
“Then start with all of it, Farstepper,” Alysana answered darkly, uttering the last word like an epithet.
“Please,” he said, holding up a hand and hanging his head. “I am hardly a Farstepper.” His words were laced with regret. “I just have the body of one. Call me Rathma.”
“Very well,” relented Alysana. “Rathma. Tell us what you know.”
Rathma simply shrugged. “The Wolfwalkers, along with some of the tribes, seek to overthrow Djozen Yelto and free their mother.”
Yasha asked, “What’s that got to do with us?”
Rathma looked at her and smiled slyly. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t be coy,” said Alysana. “Tell them their mother’s name.”
He sighed and said casually, “They call her the Ghost of the Morning.”
There was a brief silence as a realization blanketed the room.
The Ghost of the Morning. Thornton knew that name. “One of the Three,” he said.
Rathma looked at him in surprise. “What does a northerner know of the Three?” he asked, red eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“He knows what I told him,” said Alysana. “And he knows of the dangers.”
“The only danger is Djozen Yelto getting his way,” Rathma replied dismissively. “Which is why the tribes move now. The freedom of the Ghost is worth any price.”
Thornton, stepping forward, said, “Rathma, maybe you can help us. We seek the help of the Traveler and the Holder.”
Rathma laughed. “No you don’t.”
Thornton was taken aback. “Ah. Yes. We do,” he said haltingly.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Rathma replied. “You do not want to wake the Holder.”
“So we’ve been told,” Yasha remarked.
“You’re right,” Thornton shot back. “We don’t want to—we need to.”
Rathma looked confused. “What could you need to be desperate enough to wake the Holder?” he asked.
“A way in,” Kethras said in a low growl.
In the dim light, the Kienari was barely more than a shadow towering over the rest of them, but suddenly Thornton was reminded that he was more than just a shadow; he was a force to be reckoned with. Darkness upon darkness he stood, seeming to dare the Farstepper to flinch.
Thornton broke the tension. “We need the help of the Traveler to get to Khel-hârad,” he insisted. “And the help of the Holder to get to the Otherworld.”
Rathma looked to Thornton more confused than a man who had just been commanded to fly. “You do not want to wake the Holder,” he repeated.
“You keep saying that,” Thornton said, looking nervously at his companions. “Why not?”
“Because,” Rathma answered, “it is said that, when he awakens, with him will come his army—and the Days of the Dark.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as the ominous words hung in the air.
“The Days of the . . . ,” Thornton began.
“Which is why,” Rathma went on, ignoring him, “the Ghost must be set free. She and the Traveler are the only ones who have any hope of stopping him. But now,” he added with a hint of frustration, “her spirit is imprisoned by Djozen Yelto.”
Thornton and Alysana looked at each other.
“Is there any way to get into the Otherworld without using the Holder?” Alysana asked.
Rathma shrugged. “That is a question for the Three; I do not know the answer. But my guess is no.”
Thornton rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Then what choice do we have?” He looked around the room for an answer.
“None,” Kethras conceded. “But we are no closer to waking one of them than we are to waking the Three. We must go forth as planned.”
Rathma looked at each of their faces. “I do not understand your reasons, but if you know what you know and are still willing to risk the dangers . . .” Nodding, he said, “I will help.”
“Thank you—” Thornton began, but Rathma cut him off by holding up his hand.
“But there is a problem.”
Thornton groaned. “What is it?”
“All spirits, including the Three, require a Vessel: an earthly body that they are tied to.”
Yasha furrowed her brow. “Why is that a problem?” she asked.
“Normally it would not be, but when Djozen Yelto took control of the Wolfblade, he severed their ties to their original Vessels. It is how he has imprisoned the Ghost, and how he plans to control the Holder as well.”
Yasha looked at Thornton and then back to Rathma. “What if we find a new Vessel?” she asked. “Could we stop him from doing that?”
“Perhaps,” Rathma said, considering. “But if the Traveler were awakened, he would surely be able to get you into Khel-hârad.”
Khel-hârad. Land of the Dead.
Thornton knew it was their best chance of making their way toward the Otherworld and figuring out how to free Miera. It was also the stinging reminder of his father’s fate. He clenched and unclenched his fist.
While the way to the Otherworld was seemingly closed to them without the Holder, perhaps there was a “back door” that would allow them to make it through.
Kethras must have reached the same conclusion. “Then that is where we must start,” he said firmly. “We need to find a Vessel for the Traveler.”
They all seemed to be in agreement.
Which is why it seemed odd to Thornton that Rathma looked so down.
“Then you are in luck,” he said, sounding almost defeated. “If we can find someone to perform the ritual, I know of a candidate.”
“Oh?” Alysana asked, surprised. “Who?”
Rathma’s lips formed a thin smile. “Me.”