Fated (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

A
islin grasped at her surroundings, but everything was falling—there was nothing to hold on to. The air was choking her. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She was about to be torn apart, left in pieces, unable to heal or help her family meet the oncoming threat.

Something hot wrapped around her waist, and she was yanked through space, completely unsure which way was up as her world spun.

And then her feet were on spongy, not-quite-steady ground. Her eyes popped open as the chill of the Veil crept across her skin. Trevor looked down at her, his red eyes glowing. “Dec told me to come get you. He knew I’d be able to find you.” He released her arms. They were on the patio of Moros’s penthouse. Aislin looked toward the Psychopomps tower and gasped.

It wasn’t there anymore. Only a massive pile of debris clogged the space between the buildings around it. “Oh my God,” she sobbed, her chest convulsing as her hand rose to her mouth. Cold tears streaked down her face. How many of her family members were buried in that rubble? “Cacia.”

“Hang on.” Trevor disappeared.

Aislin swayed, trying to regain control of her body as the knowledge sank in—everything else had been destroyed.

Trevor reappeared. “Cacy’s fine. Eli got her out. She said she warned as many people as she could.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his large hand as he looked down at the catastrophe. “This is bad,” he said quietly.

“Can you help with a rescue effort?” Aislin said, her breath puffing out in front of her. “There might be humans trapped in the rubble. If they weren’t Marked . . .”

Aislin froze as a terrible realization hit her. Declan had said Shades had been appearing around Psychopomps and disappearing just as quickly without attacking. “They were Marking people,” she whispered. “We have no way of knowing how many they got to.”

Trevor grimaced, his fangs glinting dully. “But all of them would be unsanctioned kills.”

“Moros,” she said softly. What if this had been enough to destroy the fabric of fate? Would it kill him? “I have to go.”

Trevor’s eyebrows rose. “But the rescue efforts—”

“You and Declan can coordinate.” Her eyes met Trevor’s. “Warn him that worse is probably coming. Tell him to follow through with my plan immediately.”

“Plan?”

“He’ll know,” she said, reaching for her Scope. Her heart nearly stopped as she realized it wasn’t attached to her necklace.

Trevor smiled. “Looking for this?” He opened his fingers and revealed the ornately stamped platinum disk, the raven surface upturned:
Fatum Nos Vocat.

Fate calls us.

She plucked it from his palm. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t,” he replied. “I’m at your service until the end of my existence.”

She reached out and gave his massive forearm an affectionate squeeze. “Then please help Declan.”

Trevor grinned. “No problem.”

“And please protect him. He’s human. We all are. And I’m afraid—” Her throat tightened, making it impossible to speak. The memory of her brother, torn raw and bloody by Eli’s claws, stole her breath.

“No one’s gonna touch him, Aislin,” Trevor said, his determination showing in the flex of his jaw.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said, her voice strained. “Be sure to warn him and Cacia about Apate and Eris. I have a feeling they’re nearby. I’m going to go to the summit with the Keepers now.”

“Have you heard from Moros?” Trevor asked.

She stared up at the big Ker, wishing she could confide her fears, but there was no time left. “I’m meeting him there.” She needed to see his face right now. She needed to know he was alive. More than anything, she wanted to be in his arms, letting his heat and strength wrap around her.

As Trevor disappeared, Aislin looked down at her Scope. She flipped it over so the scales were up, the symbol of justice and judgment. Closing her eyes, she whispered the ancient incantation all Charons knew from the moment they accepted the Scope. It was imprinted into her thoughts, each word a small, cold comfort.

The Scope grew warm and then hot beneath the pad of her thumb, and just as it became unbearable, she pulled it wide to reveal a stone wall. Cautiously, she stepped through the portal before compacting the disk and clipping it to her necklace once more. She was standing in a small windowless chamber. “I request audience with the Keepers,” she said, focused on making her voice low and steady, even as her heart kicked frantically against her breastbone.

The rocks directly in front of her shifted backward and slid out of the way, revealing another chamber, this one cavernous and cold, with a dais at the front. Aislin shuddered as she realized it was identical to the visions she’d had while in the grip of Apate’s lies. Two women were chained to the wall behind the dark throne, their faces twisted into pained grimaces. But the thrones were empty, and two people stood together in the center of the room.

The first, a black-robed man with blond hair and obsidian eyes, looked up as she approached. “Welcome, Charon,” he said, his voice as deep as an abyss.

“Welcome,” echoed the second, a woman with black hair and eyes that looked like diamond chips, making it hard to meet her gaze. In her hand she held a small glowing globe.

Aislin clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m here for our summit. The Lord of the Kere and I require your assistance in meeting a dire threat to the earthly realm.”

The black-eyed man, who could only be the Keeper of Hell, smirked. “This one has a nice turn of phrase, don’t you think?”

“Lovely,” said the Keeper of Heaven, her diamond eyes glinting as she gave Aislin a once-over. “In every way.”

“But I’m afraid you’re too late,” the Keeper of Hell said to her. And then he stepped aside.

Moros lay crumpled on the floor behind them, and Aislin gasped as she saw his face, ghastly pale and lined with black veins. His throat was striped with dark bruises. “What have you done to him?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from breaking as Moros stirred, his eyelids fluttering.

The Keeper of Hell folded his thickly muscled arms over his chest. “Very little as of yet. He’s just more dead than usual.”

Moros made a choked sound and raised his head.
Aislin,
he mouthed. His eyes had clouded over, and he was squinting as if trying to bring her into focus.

She couldn’t stop the tears. “The fabric.”

“It is completely destroyed,” said the Keeper of Heaven.

“And now Chaos has risen,” said the Keeper of Hell. “It will be your job to stop him if you’d like to continue to exist.”

He wanted
her
to fight Chaos? “My family is scattered and hurt. Our headquarters has just been destroyed. And only Moros can summon his army of Kere.” It would take all of them to destroy the Shade-Kere. And as for Chaos himself . . .

Aislin looked back and forth between the Keepers and Moros as a sudden peace settled inside her. She sought Moros’s gaze and found it riveted on her. “You were right,” she said quietly.

Moros’s brow furrowed.

“About how this would end.”

The Keeper of Hell chuckled. “Only we decide how it ends.”

Aislin inclined her head respectfully. “Of course. But I have been aware for the last few days that my death was drawing near.” She looked up at the Keeper of Hell. “And everything is suddenly clear.”

Moros was struggling to rise to his knees. “No,” he said, his voice little more than a rasp.

She ignored him. “I assume the Lord of the Kere has requested permission to return to the earthly realm to fight Chaos.”

The Keeper of Hell let out a snort of laughter. “Demanded, more like.”

She pressed her lips shut. No surprise there. He’d have been desperate to make things right. Affection and exasperation coursed inside her. “And I further assume you refused.” She gestured to the two women in chains on the dais. “Because you believe he has earned an eternity of punishment.”

The Keeper of Hell regarded her steadily but said nothing.

“Would you consider accepting a substitute?”

“No,” Moros barked, finally gathering the strength to kneel.

She looked at his face, contorted with horror, and gave him an apologetic smile before saying, “Take me instead.”

“No!” shouted Moros, glaring at the Keeper of Hell with murder in his cloudy eyes. His arms trembled as he braced his palms on his knees and swayed unsteadily.

Aislin took a few steps forward, forcing herself to look directly into the eyes of the Keeper of Heaven. “This is just and right. And it will get you the results you want.”

“Order restored,” murmured the Keeper of Heaven.

“Chaos in his grave once more,” said the Keeper of Hell, giving Aislin a speculative look. “But Moros is weak. He cannot take on this enemy alone. He’s already been defeated.”

“Give him one more chance. Let him take physical form in the earthly realm once again.” She held out her arms. “And give him my life to use as his own.”

“No!” Moros tried to get to his feet but failed. “Aislin, stop.” His voice was guttural and harsh.

She slowly walked forward. “If this is what was meant to be, Jason, you have no right to refuse.”

“It was
not
meant to be!” he cried. “I will not let you sacrifice your life for mine.”

“You can’t stop her,” said the Keeper of Heaven. “That is her choice.” She turned to the Keeper of Hell and placed her hand on his arm. “You can’t deny her that, not even if the person she’s saving is the Lord of the Kere.”

A vein throbbed at the Keeper of Hell’s temple, and his black eyes glittered with fury. “This is a dirty trick.”

“Agreed,” said Moros.

Aislin pushed away a surge of fear and knelt next to Moros. “I need you to do this,” she said quietly. “This is your fight.” She met his eyes. “But you won’t be alone.”

“It can’t happen this way,” he whispered. “You will not die for my sake.”

“It’s not just for you,” she murmured. “But if it frees you, that only makes it easier for me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his expression crumpling with pain. And then he clumsily pulled her into his arms, his mouth pressed to her ear. “I will never forgive you for this.”

“Another sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

His limbs trembled with weakness, and for once, his body was cold instead of hot. It felt wrong. But the embrace didn’t last long, because a moment later, she was yanked away from him. The Keeper of Hell had wrapped his thick fingers around her throat. “Any last words?”

She began to shake as his grip tightened, as her mind began to scream for oxygen. She had to tell Moros her plan, what she’d asked Declan and Cacia to do, but she couldn’t hold on to the thought. The Keeper of Hell held Moros in a similar position on his other side, but the Lord of the Kere was struggling feebly, clawing the air as he tried to get to Aislin.

“Jason,” she managed to say as her fingers rose from her side.

“Interesting choice.” The Keeper jerked her off her feet, his fingers closing around her windpipe. “And now . . . a life for a life.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

M
oros was forced to watch as Aislin’s skin paled, as her blood ran black, as her blue eyes clouded over. He had never found death anything but natural and satisfying, but this . . .

“Stop struggling,” the Keeper of Hell said in an annoyed voice. “Accept the gift that the Charon offers you. It is only because of her that you live.”

It is only because of her that I love.
He closed his eyes as he felt his heart begin to beat, warmth radiating outward along his limbs, filling his muscles with strength. Her strength.

“It’s done. Now go and fight.” And with those words, the Keeper released him.

Moros dove for Aislin as she fell, lifeless, from the Keeper’s grasp, and he caught her just before she hit the marble at their feet. Her body was as cold as his had been a moment ago. His chest tightened, and he gritted his teeth. “I’ll fight. But when I return, you will undo this.”

The Keeper looked down at him. “Perhaps.” His lips curled into an amused smile as he watched Moros fold Aislin against his chest. “But on the other hand, I want you to suffer. And I wonder if it wouldn’t be worse for you, knowing she is here in my care.”

Moros turned to the Keeper of Heaven. “You know this isn’t just. This woman is innocent.”

The Keeper of Heaven was looking down at the glowing ball in her palm, all that was left of Atropos, as if in deep thought. Then she raised her head. “Be fair,” she said to her mate. “If he wins this battle, the choice should be his.” She turned her diamond gaze to Moros. “You can live without her, or die to take her place. But if you lose, you forfeit the choice.” She smiled. “I would think you’d find that quite motivating.”

His fingers wove into Aislin’s platinum hair as he held her. The sound of clanking chains on the dais drew his gaze to his sisters. Lachesis was staring at him, a look of intense satisfaction on her black-veined face.

“Is this what you knew?” His voice echoed in the massive hall. “Is this the secret you kept, that she would make this choice?”

She gave him a defiant smile and shook her head.

“But you removed her thread from the tapestry,” he said. “And you did it to keep
something
from me.”

Her eyes glittered with hatred as she nodded.

He looked down at Aislin. Spidery black veins traced across her white eyelids and crisscrossed her delicate cheekbones. If she hadn’t been doomed to die, he’d never have been able to touch her like he had. They had been the happiest moments of his existence, but he’d give them all up to see her alive again.

His fingers stroked down her soft, chilled skin to the Scope at her throat. Determination grew with every beat of his awakened heart. “I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” he whispered to her, pressing his lips to her brow. “And I meant it.” Gently, he laid her down, brushing her hair back from her face and kissing her lips tenderly before rising to his feet.

He turned to the Keeper of Hell, every muscle pulsing with rage and love and war. “Do not touch her until I return,” he said. “Save your bloodlust for more worthy victims.” He gestured at his sisters.

The Keeper of Hell arched an eyebrow. “Fair enough.”

The Keeper of Heaven was staring down at Aislin, the glowing globe still cradled in her palm. “Fair,” she murmured.

Moros allowed himself one final glance at Aislin before willing himself back into the Veil. But instead of going straight to the battleground of Boston, he traveled to his own domain, the first place he had kissed Aislin—and the home of the souls of all his Kere. He appeared in the chamber and spread his arms, and the walls moved back, stretching the space until it was a vast hall. He was surprised at how strong he felt; ever since the fabric had begun to fray, he’d forgotten what it felt like to have this much energy flowing through his body. It was Aislin, he knew. Her vitality, her strength. And her love for him. He could feel it with every breath he took. It was a gift he couldn’t keep—but for now he would make the most of it.

He strode to his trunk and opened it, gazing down upon the wriggling, colorful mass of souls within. “Come to me. All of you,” he said quietly.

He turned as they began to obey, appearing instantly in the huge space, looking around with confusion before approaching him warily. Each of their gazes held a question, and as more and more of them materialized, their surprise grew. Luke appeared in the middle of the crowd. “Boston is in chaos,” he announced. “Shade-Kere everywhere.”

Hai popped into the space right in front of Moros, followed by Parinda. “There are too many of them,” Hai said, breathing hard.

“That is why I am gathering everyone,” Moros replied. “It will take all of us to beat them.”

Parinda looked him over. “You look stronger than when you left for the realm of the Lucinae.”

Moros ran his hand over his chest. All his wounds were gone. “That had nothing to do with the Lucinae themselves.”

“What about the Charon?” she asked, her tone defiant.

He met her gaze. “Without her, this fight would already be lost.”

Trevor and Eli appeared right next to Parinda. “Something bad is going down,” Trevor said between heavy breaths. “The Shade-Kere are massing around Psychopomps.”

“What’s left of it, you mean,” said Eli, his jaw tense. “It’s been completely destroyed. A bunch of Ferrys were buried in the rubble, but we haven’t been able to get to them because of all the Shades in the area.”

Moros closed his eyes and focused on sensing Declan and Cacia, knowing Aislin would want them to be safe. He relaxed a little when he felt them both, pushing them out of his mind for the moment. “Eris and Apate—have you seen either of them?”

“Not yet, but we’ve been on the lookout. I figured they’d enjoy watching the chaos they’ve caused.” Trevor looked around the room. “Where’s Aislin? What happened at the summit with the Keepers?”

Moros swallowed hard. “It’s not over yet.” He met Trevor’s gaze. “Aislin is still there.”

“But you’re going back for her,” Trevor said slowly.

“Nothing could stop me.”

Trevor nodded. “Then tell us how to help.”

Moros turned to address all his Kere, for the hall was now filled to the brim. “The fabric of fate has been destroyed,” he said in a loud voice. “I am here on borrowed time.”

There was complete silence as shock pervaded the room. Moros let it sink in for a moment before continuing. “I have called you here to offer you a choice.” He stepped aside and gestured at the open trunk of souls, and every gaze in the room focused on it like a beacon. “Any of you who would like to collect your soul and exit my service are welcome to do so. You will appear before the Keepers to meet your final fate.”

He looked over the crowd. He’d given each of them a chance after their deaths, knowing them to be capable of taking lives, but now he was thinking of what Clotho had said to him just before the end: two thousand years as a slave changes a person. “I am offering you your freedom.”

“But only if we’re ready to go to Hell,” Luke shouted. Many of his brethren grumbled their agreement.

Moros stared Luke down. “Yes. You will reap the reward that you have
earned
. You have all had the freedom to decide how to carry out your duties.”

Luke looked away from his gaze, and the irritable muttering stopped. But no Kere came forward to claim their souls.

Moros looked at Eli, who shook his head. “I won’t leave Cacy. Ever,” Eli said quietly.

“Very well then,” Moros said as he closed the lid. “Then listen closely, for this is your final choice. I am going into battle, and I need allies by my side. You can join me, or you can choose not to. I will not decide for you. If I win, I will find a way to restore fate. And if I lose, Chaos will reign on Earth, and you can take your chances.”

He took a step back. “Those of you who choose to fight, follow me.”

His heart beat hard against his ribs as he willed himself into the Veil. The very air seemed to shudder around him, a sensation he’d only felt once before—when he’d gone to retrieve the Blade from Chaos’s tomb. The creature was loose in the world, and Moros had the feeling that all he needed to do was follow the trail of mayhem to find him.

Given what Eli and Trevor had just told him, Boston seemed like the epicenter. He materialized on the patio of his penthouse to get a view of the battlefield. Screams and sirens filled the night air, along with a haze of smoke. The magnificent Psychopomps tower was gone. He wondered if Aislin had been in it as it fell, if that was the reason for her bloody pants and the soot smeared across her shirt when she’d arrived at the summit. It must have sliced right through her heart, seeing it fall, and the knowledge only stoked his desire to fight. The tremors he felt in the Veil were here, too, like the monster was thriving on the catastrophe unfolding below. Moros knew the only reason he was able to withstand it was that he wasn’t powered by his own strength now—Aislin had enabled him to fight this final battle. He had insisted it wasn’t meant to be . . . but had he been wrong? Would he be able to face Chaos because she’d sacrificed herself?

Trevor and Eli appeared on either side of him, and Moros stepped back from the edge of the patio, steeling himself. “Just as before,” he said. “Bring them to me and I’ll destroy them.”

Trevor gave him a knowing look. “I think you’d better brace yourself, then. You’re gonna be busy.” He pointed down at the city.

The sidewalks were packed; tiny figures with glowing red eyes were everywhere. Moros’s heart leaped at the sight. His Kere had followed him.

Eli smiled. “We’re all with you. Let’s get this done.” He vanished. So did Trevor.

Moros gritted his teeth as he felt another vibration beneath his feet, like the earth was beginning to shake itself apart. “Let’s get this done,” he echoed quietly, then willed himself onto the streets below to destroy the enemies of fate his sisters had created.

His world became a blur of killing as his Kere brought him offering after offering, and each time a Shade-Ker exploded into dust, he felt himself growing more confident. Clotho might have created a horde of monsters, but with fifty thousand Kere on the streets, they didn’t stand much of a chance. The servants of fate pursued them in and out of the Veil—there was nowhere they could hide that they couldn’t be followed. One by one, Moros destroyed them, his hands blazing. He knew it couldn’t possibly be this easy, but for now he would slaughter with joy in his heart. Every kill brought him closer to victory, closer to the moment when he would see Aislin’s skin regain its color, when her eyes would open, full of that cleverness and graceful strength that had earned his devotion.

He would submit to the Keeper of Hell gladly, as long as he knew she was alive and well, and he would fight for that moment. The streets and canals of Boston were cluttered with debris and wreckage, with the bodies of innocent victims who had not been able to escape the evil that had descended upon the city. The Shade-Kere might be dwindling in number, but they were still trying to kill as many as they could.

Hai appeared at his side, offering up yet another struggling monster for Moros to destroy. As soon as he did, Hai grinned. “We’re getting there, I think. I—” His eyes went wide as a deep rumbling filled the air.

Moros spun around to follow the direction of Hai’s startled gaze in time to witness two skyscrapers crumbling about ten blocks to their east, close to the waterfront. The ground bucked as two more, this time a block closer, began to fall. Moros’s stomach turned as a wave of weakness rolled through him. “He’s here,” he said as he and Hai steadied themselves.

The battle in the street had spread throughout the city, and his Kere were hard at work to quell the marauding Shade-Kere. He turned to Hai. “Continue to disable as many of the Shades as you can. Do whatever you can to eliminate any enemy of fate.”

For the first time since Moros had claimed his soul, Hai looked frightened. “What is that?” he asked as two more buildings disappeared into a cloud of dust and smoke.

“That’s Chaos,” Moros said. “And he is mine to deal with.” He willed himself into the Veil and appeared four blocks to the east, squinting to see his enemy through the haze. His brow furrowed as he struggled to focus on the lone figure walking along the sidewalk next to the canal, steps unhurried, pulling down the buildings behind him with casual flicks of his fingers.

Wait—
were
they fingers? The more Moros stared, the more he wondered if they were tentacles, the way they stretched and shrank, curving in the air like snakes. His head swam with dizziness as he tried to focus on just one part of Chaos’s body, but every time he did, the being’s appearance shifted and changed, becoming something else.

He knew the moment Chaos saw him, because he stopped walking, and for a second, he took the form of an ordinary man. One who wore Moros’s own face. “Did you come to fight me?” he asked in an impossibly deep voice. His countenance began to shift, then, changing to take on Apate’s face, then Eris’s, then Clotho’s, then Lachesis’s.

“No,” said Moros, fighting nausea as he tried to focus on Chaos’s ever-changing features. “I came to kill you.”

The air around the creature warped as he grew and twisted, arms and legs sprouting from his back, his chest. “You can try,” he rumbled as his face became that of Nyx, as dark and beautiful as Moros remembered her. “But you will fail.”

And then Chaos disappeared. Moros’s heart thundered as he whirled around, looking for his enemy. But no sooner had he closed his eyes to try to sense him than his head exploded with pain and he found himself being lifted into the air, his wrists and ankles held in the grip of his enemy’s ever-shifting arms. The being looked up at him and suddenly his countenance changed again, creasing and folding in on itself to form a monstrous calamity of a face, with six black eyes and a gaping mouth. “This world is mine now, servant of fate,” the creature said as massive horns sprouted from his head.

Moros struggled in vain—his strength was nothing compared to this god, fueled by all the destruction brought about by the Fates themselves. He fought with all his might, but Chaos had no trouble controlling him. Hot frustration roared through him as he tried to concentrate on summoning his Kere, on disappearing into the Veil, but Chaos merely shook him, rattling his bones and scattering his thoughts. “I’m not going to kill you,” Chaos said, his voice so ominous and deep that Moros felt it vibrating along his bones. He yanked Moros close to his rancid mouth, his black tongue swirling. “I have to reward the ones who raised me from the dead.”