Page 74 of In Your Light

“Nice try.”

“Did it work?”

“Not at all.”

“Ooh, look,” Hendrix said with a laugh. “Mum and Dad are fighting again.”

Kellan laughed before kissing Hendrix and Dylan. “I’ll go check on Tobin,” he said, meeting Ciaran and Sawyer at the door. “Let me know straight away if Fyn or Hadeom need me.”

“Will do,” Ciaran said. “And thanks, Kellan.”

“Any time.”

Hendrix and Dylan followed Kellan across to the jetty while Ciaran and Sawyer walked towards Fyn’s place. When they got close, they heard music. A flute, perhaps. Soft, haunting, and utterly heartbreaking.

“Oh my god,” Sawyer whispered, hurrying up the steps.

They walked in quietly. The room was dark, lit only by the dying fire. Fyn sat with his back to the wall, holding a small wooden flute to his lips. Hadeom’s head was still resting in his lap, and he was still staring at the fire, unseeing, unmoving.

“Hey,” Sawyer said gently.

Fyn startled and stopped playing.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” Fyn murmured.

“We brought you some dinner,” Ciaran said. “Has he...?”

Fyn shook his head. “No.”

“That was a beautiful song,” Sawyer said.

When Fyn turned his face, Ciaran could see he’d been crying. He had trails of tears down his cheeks made silver by the firelight.

“It’s an old song,” Fyn said. “To call a lost soldier home from war. If they’re weary and have lost their way.”

Oh, damn.

Ciaran’s heart hurt, which Sawyer must have felt, because he squeezed his hand.

“Maybe he can hear me,” Fyn murmured.

“I’m sure he can,” Sawyer said. He went to Fyn and wiped his cheeks, then stroked his hair. “If anyone can bring him back, it will be you.”

HADEOM

The vast wasteland in front of him was forged in fire.

Blackened stone stretched out to every horizon, split open by ancient heat that no longer burned, cold seeping out to frost over everything it touched. Twisted pillars clawed toward a sky of ash, where clouds hung heavy like the last cries of the forgotten. Nothing lived here. Nothing dared.

Hadeom was truly alone.

Once upon a time, kingdoms had trembled when he spoke. Monsters obeyed his command, and the dead marched in endless procession beneath his hand. Now his shadows hung in tatters, dragging through soot and brittle bones. His mind was cracked, his spirit torn open. His soul.... His soul was scorched to cinder.

He could not remember where he was going.

Or where he had come from.