Across the woman’s bare arms, a patchwork shimmered—something I recognized even void of color.
Scars.
“Then we can begin,” the man said.
“Aren’t there supposed to be three of you?” I asked. I may not have planned to attempt the ritual, but I knew how the damn thing worked. Three Spirits to provide mental challenges, likely pointing out things you’d rather leave untouched. “And what about the physical feat?”
“You put a knife through your own chest,” the man pointed out. “The physical task is more than fulfilled.”
Avoiding looking at that gaping wound again, I supposed he was right. Still, I didn’t want to do this.
“Can’t I just go to the Spirit Realm like all others who die?” Other than the agony of leaving the people I loved behind, I thought it would be a quick and painless journey. Apparently not.
The woman’s lips tipped into a soft, eerily familiar smile. “Humor us.”
I supposed I truly had no other way out of this. “Fine,” I agreed. “What are your names?”
I skipped right over the formalities of the ritual, wanting to get to the point. There was a lot that remained secret about the Undertaking, but these two had to have been assigned to me for a reason. There were countless Spirits in the Volcano; it wasn’t random.
“I am Brenna,” the woman said cordially. “Please to meet you Malakai Augustus Blastwood.”
“You, too,” I lied, turning toward the man.
“Hectatios.”
Hectatios was a man of many words it appeared.
“Good to meet you,” I said, and he—to no surprise—grunted. I fought off the agitation that pounded through my chest at the dismissal.
Hectatios said, “There is something that has persisted through ancient histories. It has painted every legend in crimson sorrows, yet it is the purest form of adoration. It is something you know intimately after tonight, Malakai Augustus Blastwood. A consequence and its driving force, things I once stood at the end of. A decision that warps the heart and stains the stones of existence for eternity.”
This was his test, I realized. More of a general rambling than a riddle, but a lesson I was meant to unravel all the same.
And it was all too personal for me to pretend I didn’t know exactly what Hectatios was speaking of.
“You mean sacrifice?” I asked. The wound on my chest stung.
“I do.”
“What of it?” Because that could not be the only point to Hectatios’s presence here. To acknowledge my sacrifice.
“You and I are not that different,” Hectatios said.
“How?” I asked.
His silver hair waved around him as his shoulders rose and fell with a reluctant breath. “I once was tied to an Alabath cursed to defy the Angels.”
“You loved…Annellius?” I asked.
“He was my closest confidant,” Hectatios stated. “We were together since birth. And I, too, gave my life for this curse.”
“You were…”
“I was you, many centuries ago,” Hectatios clarified.
“What do you mean?”How?
“During the age of the first Angelcurse, I was the one by Annellius’s side. I was the one whose life was lost in order for him to realize this curse was in fact a plague on Ambrisk, not a restoration of the Balance.”
