A World of Fog
PORTIA 
Portia hurried after Gwil, running down the staircase that wound deep into the guts of the castle. “Why would Ben want to go to the Underworld?” she asked, leaping over a crumbling step.
“I think he wants to look for his father,” Gwil answered.
“What?” Portia felt a stab of pain in her heart.
“He told me his father had passed away,” Gwil said. They could see a faint light at the bottom of the stairs now, and Gwil quickened his pace. “And he was asking Tegid all sorts of questions about the Underworld. I think he wanted to know whether it’s possible to bring someone back from there. And… oh no.”
Gwil came up short at the bottom of the stairs. Portia pushed past him and into the cellar, desperately hoping to find Ben. But the room was empty, apart from the old, blackened door at the center.
They were too late. Portia saw her backpack leaning against the doorframe, confirming her worst fears.
“Oh, Ben,” Portia groaned.
“He was so fascinated by the Door of the Dead,” Gwil said ruefully. “When we came down here the first time, he wanted to open it—I could feel it.” He pressed a hand to his mouth, shaking his head. “I should’ve known he would try again,” he lamented. “Who wouldn’t want to go through a door if they knew a lost loved one was waiting on the other side?”
“Could he actually do it?” Portia asked. “Bring back his dad, I mean?”
Her heart ached in sympathy with Ben as she imagined the weight of the sorrow that had driven him through the door.
Gwil shook his head. “No. When the soul moves on, it doesn’t just go to a different place; it also takes a different form. Some transformations cannot be reversed.”
“So what will happen to Ben?” Portia pressed on. “When he finds his father, what then?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Gwil, wringing his hands. “Perhaps he’ll find his way back, or perhaps he’ll get lost. Or perhaps he won’t even want to come back. The fogs of Annwn bring consolation, freeing the soul of all grief and regret. But they also make you forget that there’s another world, and why you might want to return there.”
Portia could feel icy cold trickling into her veins. “He’d become a Mistwalker,” she said in a calm voice that was at odds with her feelings. “Like Rose.”
Gwil nodded. He touched the lock with his fingertips. “I should’ve warned him.”
Portia doubted that it would have made any difference at all. She understood why Ben had crossed over into the Underworld. And she didn’t blame him for it, either. Gwil was right. Who wouldn’t take that opportunity? At the same time, she couldn’t just leave Ben. She wasn’t going to let someone go into the fog alone again.
She gave the iron door ring a cautious tug, and to her surprise it moved. The door was ajar. She drew her hand back, hesitating for a moment. Out on the island, Rose and the others were fighting Arawn and his army. She had no idea how the battle was going. Had they defeated him, or had he managed to break through them to the World Door? She imagined returning to the Human World alone, knowing that Ben would be forever wandering the Underworld. She came to a decision.
“I’m going after him.”
“What?” Gwil stared at her.
Portia handed him the hunting horn. “Go back and explain to Rose what happened. But only… only once the battle is over, all right?” She reached for the door ring again. “I’m going to get Ben. I just have to.”
“But it won’t work,” Gwil protested. “The fog—”
“I know what I’m getting myself into,” she said, cutting him off. She knew if Gwil continued, she would lose her nerve. “I won’t let the fog drain me. Anyway, we don’t have a choice. We can’t let Ben down.”
She looked Gwil straight in the eye, and he returned her gaze. Then he raised his hand, as if to hold her back, but let it fall to his side.
Portia gritted her teeth and pulled the door open. Fear burned in her chest. She had no idea what was happening outside, whether the fog had surged across the courtyard and into the fortress. Perhaps the Pale Tower had already sunk into oblivion, and this grim door in front of her was all that was left. She had to help Ben. But what if she ended up lost on the other side? Portia closed her eyes.
“Good luck,” Gwil said, and with that Portia stepped through the doorway.
Portia pulled the Door of the Dead shut behind her, looked up, and stumbled back against the closed door. Ahead of her lay a thick bank of fog, and it was coming closer, pale and hideous, a blind, groping mass. Everything in her shied away from touching it. There was something hungry about the white murk, which swelled and contracted like a grasping hand.
The fog will suffocate you. You will drown. You will never find your way home.
“Pull yourself together,” Portia muttered to herself. Then she peeled away from the door, held her head up, and walked straight into the maelstrom.
Portia took shallow breaths. The less fog made it into her lungs the better. She couldn’t see her feet, but felt the soles of her boots touching water, and heard the splish-splash noise of her steps as she walked. The fog swirled all around her, clinging to her skin like damp cobwebs.
Just as it had earlier back in the castle, it felt like the fog was feeling and sensing her, its every touch sending shivers through her body. Her pulse fluttered with fear, her limbs grew heavier with every step, and she felt a knot of grief form in her stomach. Gwil had said that the fogs of Annwn relieved wandering souls of their misery. But for some reason, it was different for Portia. All the feelings of sorrow and distress that had ever been absorbed by the fog poured into her, filling her head and seeping through her skin. She felt like a sponge soaking up fear and grief. She took one step, and another, and then stopped short. Portia bent double, resting her hands on her knees, trying to make herself as small as she could, to protect herself. But she could feel her consciousness getting swept away in a torrent of strange feelings.
I don’t want to leave yet. Please, I don’t want to leave. I wanted to tell her… I wish I had just one more…
When Portia came to her senses again, she was cowering on the ground, curled up in a ball. It was just too much. Feelings of longing, regret, guilt… They all rushed through her. She didn’t want to take another step; she wanted to disappear, to dissolve. If her whole self was blown away like dandelion seeds on the wind, then at least all the pain would be over.
With her eyes tightly shut, she fumbled for her pocket and pulled out Robin’s glass vial. When it was lying in her hand, she opened her eyes. What was left of the metamorphosis potion glowed like liquid amber inside.
Emotions hammered against the last of the walls protecting Portia’s consciousness as she plucked the cork from the vial. She brought it to her mouth and let a drop of the smooth syrup-like substance fall onto her tongue. The taste of honey and resin exploded on her taste buds, and warmth spread through her body as if she was soaking in sunlight. It filled her completely, dissolving all her pain, every anxious thought, and turning it all into light. Her whole consciousness was focusing on this one sensation.
When Portia opened her eyes yet again, she saw the fog through the wolf’s eyes. The strangers’ emotions had receded and no longer plagued her. She shook her wolf body, and little droplets of fog flew from her coat. She sniffed the air, sorting through the smells of fog and water, until she identified a specific scent that she had already followed all the way from the mountains to the coast: ink, human. Ben. The satisfaction of having found the trail filled her whole being. She picked up the vial with her teeth and loped onward. The fog had no power over her now.