Page 196 of Anathema
A powerful force struck my back, knocking me through the glimmering archway to the other side, where the cold forest bed slammed into my palms as I tumbled to the ground.
The atmosphere instantly changed.
The glow from the other side had dimmed to a brute darkness, the surrounding trees illuminated only by the full moon overhead. Eerie silence hung in the air and felt thick and suffocating. No light from the archway. No fireflies dancing about. Only the frigid cold that chewed at my bones as I pushed to my feet.
I’d passed through, back to Mortasia.
A glance back at the archway showed nothing more than my reflection against the blackness of the forest—an unnerving sight that had me looking away.
Shivering, I scanned the thorn bushes for any sign of my sister. “Aleysia,” I said, quieter than before, only to be met by silence.
The creeping realization that she might’ve been nothing more than an illusion, a trickery, crawled over the back of my neck. And still, beneath that treachery festered an unfounded sliver of possibility. A sixth sense, of sorts, which kept me from turning back.
I started off in the direction I’d seen her run, stepping cautiously through the briars. The darkness itself was a predator, watching me with its endless eyes, its cold breath across my neck a constant reminder of its presence. Images of Uncle Riftyn having been flayed taunted my thoughts, as I searched the trees for the creature I’d seen that night.
Hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, the forest completely devoid of any life. No wickens, birds, bats, or any sign of predators lurking amongst the trees. And yet, I felt eyes watching me as I plodded over bracken and dead vegetation, which pummeled the soles of my feet. The slippers I’d worn for The Becoming ceremony were useless against the rough terrain. An unsettling fear crawled beneath my skin, made ever more aware, the deeper I ventured with no sign of Aleysia.
As if I had been tricked.
The moon watched me from overhead, its luminous eye the only beacon I had to guide me.
“Maevyth!” Aleysia called out to me in a voice that held far too much whimsy to belong to my sister.
The moment I opened my mouth to answer, the rule of the forest sprang to mind and the words withered on my tongue. Never answer to the sound of your own name. Instead, I kept on, eyes cautiously scanning the trees.
After what felt like an hour, or more, had passed, I finally spied the second archway ahead of me.
An overwhelming relief bloomed in my chest, the closer I padded toward it. No matter the terms upon which I’d left Agatha, so long as Aleysia was alive, I’d forgive. As I neared the entryway to home, I promised myself that I’d harbor no grudge against my step-grandmother. After all, it’d been Uncle Riftyn who’d helped me escape that night. Without him, I couldn’t begin to imagine what would’ve happened to me.
At the threshold, I pushed my hand through, noting the stark difference in temperature, colder outside of the woods. With careful steps, I passed through and found myself on familiar ground, absent of warm welcome.
Winter had arrived, the ground a blanket of white, as I stared across the yard to the cottage. No smoke from the chimney. No lights through the windows. Nothing but a dark stillness that left me wondering if anyone still lived there.
I glanced back toward the forest.
Could I turn back if I wanted, or was it too late?
“Maevyth!” Aleysia’s voice called out to me, and I snapped my attention in the direction of the cottage. Without much direction from my head, I jogged across the dirt road, eyes on the windows for any sign of movement, until I reached the entry door and pushed through to the dark parlor within. A stark cold nipped at my skin, and I crossed my arms over my chest, glancing around at the signs of abandonment. Agatha’s teacup sat out on a coffee table, mold crawling over the rim of it, onto the saucer. Her beloved reading chair tipped on its side. Tattered curtains danced in the breeze blowing in through the cracked window.
I didn’t dare call out for Aleysia, for fear that only silence would answer.
Or something else.
Having swept through the lower level to find no sign of her, I made my way up the staircase to the upper level, peering into the rooms for Agatha, or Uncle Felix. I didn’t care who I encountered, so long as they had a pulse. When those rooms showed no sign of life, I climbed the staircase to the attic.
My old room was probably the warmest, but cold enough to stoke the shivers wracking my bones. Standing in the remnants of what I remembered, I suddenly yearned for the warm bed back at Eidolon, the hearth, and Magdah’s tea. A glance around the small space showed no evidence that anyone had been there since that fateful day Aleysia had been dragged away. The beds stood undisturbed and neatly made, my slippers tucked beneath. Weavers hung unmoving from the ceilings overhead, and I wondered if their herbal bellies were full of nightmares witnessed in my absence.
What had happened here?
Where had everyone gone?
I crossed the room to the dresser and dragged my finger over a thick layer of dust. Far too thick for the couple of weeks I’d gone missing. It coated my finger, and I frowned, rubbing it away. Lifting my gaze showed opaque tangles of cobwebs at the ceiling, as if no one had lived there in quite some time.
What had happened after the night of The Banishing?
A soft tapping snagged my attention, and I spun around, searching the dark room for the source .
An unbidden image of The Banishing Man flashed through my mind, casting a chill down my spine. Eyes clamped, I willed it away, for fear my mind might easily materialize the terrifying visual in my head. When I opened them again, a mouse scampered from beneath my bed to Aleysia’s, and I breathed a sigh of relief.