Page 152 of While the Dark Remains
Ballast?I say, frantic, into his mind.
His answer comes hesitant, unsure:Here, Brynja.
We draw near to the edge of the glacier sea and slow our steps.
The Yellow Lord is impossible to look at. All is light, light, scorching every part of me. My heart sears and my lungs boil and I think I will drown in light.
“Stop!” I shriek at the Yellow Lord. “You Have to Stop.”
His voice comes out of the brightness, solemn and weary. “I cannot, little Eldingar. My power has been unbound. It will not stop until it has consumed all darkness, on the earth and under it.”
Behind him, the sun rises, but I cannot tell him apart from the brightness of that ancient star.
I think of the Sea of Bones, where it’s said the Ghost Lord walks, hand in hand with the Gray Lady, guardians of the dead. Ballast and I cannot bind the Yellow Lord anew. But they could.
The Sea,I whisper into Ballast’s mind. I only hope he understands.
Then we’re running again, hurtling toward the Yellow Lord. The world is white before my eyes.
We slam into him and I cry out in agony. All is heat, light, pain. But we don’t stop.
The sun rises and the Yellow Lord burns and we fall with him, into the Sea of Bones.
I lose Ballast somewhere in the light, his fingers slipping from mine. The Yellow Lord weeps as we fall, the power bursting out of him, still growing and growing. It is agony to be near him, but his torment must be worse, boiling from the inside.
We fall and fall, and I feel strangely outside of myself. The fear is still there, the pain, the loss. But there will be relief soon. Rest.
My people have long believed that if they are devout enough in life, they will be rewarded with the power and immortality of a First One after death. I have both served and betrayed my people; I don’t know what awaits me at the bottom of the Sea. I only hope we’ve bought enough time so that Saga and the others can make it to Tenebris, that they’ll be saved from the Yellow Lord’s annihilation.
Brynja,comes the frantic thread of Ballast’s voice in my mind.
Here, Bal.
I grasp for him, but I can’t reach him, and that’s what makes the fear rush up, the horror and the sorrow of death grip tight.
Brynja!
The ground rushes up to greet us. The light burns, burns, and then—
The music of bubbling water, the quiet warmth of an underground chamber.
I blink and see the Iljaria city that Ballast and Saga and I wandered through two years ago. It’s illuminated by soft, unseen lamps, and the whole place smells of yeast and honey. There is the fountain where Ballast and I sat while Saga bathed. There are the statues, the murals, the flagstone floor.
I am here and yet not here, for I seem to have no hands, no voice. I wonder if I am already dead, shattered at the bottom of the Sea of Bones, or if this is a vision, the ravings of my dying mind.
I blink again and see the Yellow Lord, kneeling in the midst of the room, his head bowed. Light ripples all along his skin, and tears drip from his eyes and turn to steam.
The Prism Lady stands before him, her hair a river of white that falls to the floor and pools around her ankles. She looks at once young and ancient, her skin very pale, her eyes no color at all, and yet every color at once. With her are the Blue Lady, the Ghost Lord, and the Bronze Lord, who sits in a carved chair, his ruined arms laid on his knees.
“Youngest of us all,” says the Prism Lady, crouching down to the Yellow Lord’s sight line, taking his chin gently in hers. His light does not seem to harm her, but her face is heavy with sorrow. “You have been unbound.”
“So,” says the Yellow Lord, agony twisting his features.
“Once,” says the Ghost Lord, taking a step nearer, “we offered you a choice, a dwelling place that you scorned.”
The Yellow Lord weeps, weeps, and the steam of his tears hisses on the flagstones.
The Blue Lady comes forward, butterflies and bees tangled in her curls, a lion pressed against her hip, a falcon on her shoulder. “Once, you nearly destroyed the world with your power. We will not allow you to do so again.”
