It was as good a plan as any. It would work; it had to work. There was no alternative. She would throw all her magic into the prison, creating an orb of swirling waters and endless streaks of lightning within the storms. Once the curse was fulfilled, once the sun of the first day in the new year rose in all its glorious splendor, she would be forever trapped within that cage of her own making. It would be an impenetrable force, unbreakable by the bloodlust or by any god who might wish to set it free. Her enchantments would hold, and she would be trapped in an everlasting state of drowning and electrocution, locked inside a sea of storms.
When Oriana made it back to the Phantom Wood, she vowed that she would bring this place that had been her only refuge–a sliver of salvation–to an end and allow the people she had come to love freedom after almost seven hundred years.
She had watched generations of families born. Known the many great grandparents of those who currently resided in Sardorf, and for all that she had caused them to endure, they were happy. Everyone within that small town nestled in her forest of enchantments was happy. She was grateful for these people more than they knew, and she would forever be indebted to them.
A sudden sadness settled over her. She had made it to the cliffs she knew so well with a few hours left before sunset. Oriana sat, reminiscing on her time in this world, on the humanity she had gained from these people, and on the friendships that had made the curse an easier burden to bear.
She would be lying to herself if she didn't admit to feeling like a failure in her inability to break the curse. But the more she thought of it, the more it seemed that Anthes had made it impossible. There was no way out of the curse. The only way to end it would be to agree to return with him, becoming his right hand in the war of the worlds once again. That would never happen, and she had come to terms with the consequences of that decision. She much preferred the thought of being locked inside herself, the bloodlust free but trapped for eternity, then going back to unleash it on any unsuspecting beings that Anthes wished to eradicate from existence. She preferred it as long as the bloodlust was contained and unable to harm anyone else.
The cold wind swept up from the ocean, lashing out at her face and hair. Oriana squinted against it as she raised her hands and pushed them out toward the sea. A massive bubble of water shimmered out over the ocean. Waves, winds, the spray of the storms, thunder, and lightning all wrapped around the orb of seawater so fast and loud that no one would be able to see or hear her once she was inside. Her cage was ready.
She lowered her hands, placing them upon the rocky cliff’s edge and then pulled them upwards as if conducting an orchestra from the depths of the ocean. Sandy platforms glistening with seaweed and scattered bits of coral pushed through the ocean’s surface, stretching out toward the storms in a long row and forming a walkway of steppingstones to her prison.
Oriana took a deep breath, and without looking back, she stepped onto the first platform.
24
Garren
31st day of the Twelfth Month, 1774
“I wish to break Oriana from her curse, and I need your help,” Garren said as he sat heavily at the stone feet of Hylda, Oriana’s mother.
Orrick sputtered a malicious cackle. “My help? That curse is the best thing my father has done in centuries. Why in the cosmos would I want to help you break it?”
“Because it will anger your father. Anthes wishes for Oriana to come back to her rightful place as goddess and if she doesn’t do that, he wishes her to destroy this world as her bloodlust. If we break the curse, neither of those things will happen. Anthes will be furious, and with the three of us combined, we can imprison him the same way he did you and Oriana. We can be the punishers for once.” Garren searched for the words that would keep Orrick interested.
“You know nothing of the Gods, halfling,” he spat, kicking a piece of stone skittering across the atrium floor. “Anthes cannot be tricked. He is the god of trickery. It is a fool's errand.”
Garren remembered Oriana’s words once again: the Gods only care for themselves and their own power and glory. “Think about it. You will go down in history as the god that tricked the trickster god. You will be worshiped as one more powerful than Anthes himself. You might even be his replacement within the High Council of Vanriel.”
“I see my sister has told you much of our world. But you are wrong. The High Council does not just simply replace an eternal. The Six Eternal have been on their thrones since the beginning of time, when they were the only beings in existence with the Zydells. They cannot be replaced. Will not be replaced. Anthes is one of them. They will not accept any other in his stead.”
“How do you know? Has anyone ever tried? Perhaps they have just never deemed anyone worthy of a seat beside them.” Garren was reaching, tugging gently on strings in an attempt to pluck one that might turn Orrick in his direction. That would make him agree to help save Oriana. “Perhaps their feelings of Anthes are similar to yours, and they are searching for a way to get rid of him. You said it yourself that your father would kill both the Gods and the Zydells without even a thought to gain full control of the cosmos.”
The god said nothing. His gaze had wandered off to some distant world in obvious contemplation of Garren’s words. Garren took it as a small beacon of hope.
“Do you know how to break the curse he has placed over Oriana?” Garren tentatively asked.
Orrick turned his back to Garren, staring up at Anthes’s menacing stone form, but answered, “Without knowing the exact words he cursed her with, I cannot answer that.”
“I know the words to the curse. I have them memorized.”
Orrick’s head swiveled like an owl. He raised one eyebrow in interest. “I’m listening.”
Garren recited the words of the curse just as Oriana had said them, word for word.
“In the cover of night’s celestial glow,
A lust for blood left hidden will grow.
Two halves at war, broken apart,
Each vying for command over the heart.
The weakness of man your only satiation,
A single choice made will be your salvation.
