Purgatory's Blade
The night was silent save for horses’ hooves pounding the packed dirt of the narrow trail as they raced down the path. Every muscle in Caine’s body tensed as he leaned over the horse’s neck, giving his mount every bit of lead he could without dropping the reigns altogether. His haggard breathing distorted his sight as he looked over to his brother, Ryler, riding alongside him.
Older by four years, his brother’s features were hard, rarely showing any expression other than deep anger and fierce determination. A man of few words, verging on mute, Ryler believed his actions conveyed more meaning than words ever could. Sometimes, the two men would travel for weeks before the older man would utter a word.
Caine knew all too well who was responsible for the mask of near-constant anger that tainted his brother’s features. Before Caine had even seen his sixth winter, he and his brother were forcefully taken from the warmth of their homes and thrown into intensive and torturous training by a shrouded and wholly unknown cult known as the Black Hand.
The cult had existed since before The Dark Age, a terrible time in history six hundred years past where disease both known and unknown to man sprung forth from seemingly nowhere and loosed itself upon all forms of life. Death washed over cities like a cold wave of desolation.
Unbeknownst to most of the world, the Black Hand were solely responsible for the beginning and end of The Dark Age. The cause of this sudden death and illness across the land was due to a large congregation of cultist members practicing arts, of which implications they were not wholly aware. While still a young organization, the Black Hand made up for their inexperience concerning the practice of dark arts with fierce and unwavering determination.
Blinded by such devotion, a deep wound was torn into the thin fabric separating the living world and a realm belonging to those who had already parted from the living. The rift between realms released twisted and tormented souls upon the world, free to wreak havoc unchallenged.
Belatedly understanding that the folly of tampering with realms better left undiscovered, the Black Hand turned their blind determination away from bringing forth dark entities to rectifying the disaster they brought forth. Having long since tossed aside their humanity in the pursuit of demonology and the arts of darker origin, the cultists were able to see that which untainted humanity could not. As such, whereas humankind struggled futilely against an invisible foe, Black Hand fought against demons and creatures whose tormented bodies took on forms too awful to describe.
Over nearly a century, the Black Hand fought from the shadows. In the beginning of what became known in cultist history as the Dark War, thousands of devoted members were sacrificed while practice of exorcism was perfected. With the constant need for new bodies to replace those that were lost, children were snatched from homes and brainwashed into blind faith to the cult.
Although children were not nearly as able-bodied as grown men and women, their minds were more susceptible to instill with the teachings of the Black Hand. Those who survived the indoctrination into the cult were either placed among scholars devoted to understanding of the realm whose border still needed mending or elevated to a higher form of training: demon hunting and exorcism. The survivability of such training was lower than that of an actual exorcism. Though it lacked timeliness and yielded few hunters over several years, the rigorous training proved effective. The few demon hunters who survived the training were considered the devout among the cult, if not the deadliest.
As the ranks of the Black Hand grew, so did the knowledge of this newfound land of the afterlife, aptly called The Depths for its seemingly boundless realm. Finding a way to close the tear between worlds cost the cult thousands of lives and required experimentation with arts darker than that which had caused the initial fissure. By the time the breach slowly began to repair, the world had been irrevocably changed.
Entire nations stood divided and at arms, each blaming another for the downfall of the world and would have waged war had they had the able bodies to do so. Walls were erected around cities to keep those tainted with disease and plague from entering. Refugees were deemed contaminated and were often turned away or killed at the gate of whichever town or city they begged to be allowed into.
What were once grand cities became ruins picked clean by the few scavengers who were fortunate enough to avoid succumbing to sudden illness.
During the repair of the fissure between worlds, a less corrupt realm was discovered. This discovery served as a passable link between the physical world and The Depths. This realm became known as Purgatory. Here, souls were brought to be judged upon the actions of their mortal life. If deemed unworthy by some unknown authority, the sinful souls were forced into eternal pain and suffering in The Depths. Only speculations could be determined on what happened to those deemed worthy to avoid everlasting torment.
Despite best efforts to mend the fissure between realms, too long had the gate from The Depths stood open and allowed demons to flood forth. Though a majority of the tormentors had been exorcised and removed from the world of the living, evidence of their existence continued upon the world, resulting in the need for more bodies to serve the Black Hand and their newfound purpose of exorcism and study of The Depths. For this reason were Caine and Ryler indoctrinated into the cult.
Fifteen long and painful years filled with rigorous training passed before the brothers earned the title of demon hunters.
Though the trials they endured were the same, their bodies and personalities developed into complete opposites. In this regard, they made up for each other’s shortcomings. Ryler’s body grew to tower above most. He easily stacked on muscle, lending him the strength to crush men with his bare hands should he find himself without a weapon. Rather than observe his quarry from a distance, he rushed headfirst into battle, crushing his foes with brute force.
On the other hand, Caine struggled to gain height and muscle, his head barely reaching to his brother’s broad shoulders. Rather than fight with brawn, of which he had none, he used his small stature to attack unseen from the shadows. With a more diminutive stature than average men, he took advantage of his lack of presence, blending in with his surroundings to watch his prey and find his advantage without their knowing.
Rather than wielding large and fearsome weapons as Ryler did, Caine lined every hand-stitched pocket within the confines of his robes with blades of various shapes and sizes.
Even the grooming standards between the two brothers were in complete contrast. Where Ryler kept the hair atop his head trimmed short as to avoid his foe the advantage of grabbing a handful in hand-to-hand combat, Caine cared little for grooming habits and let his black curly hair grow to a considerable length. He occasionally took a blade to it to keep Ryler’s disappointed expression at bay. At times, he would purposely cut it unevenly just so that it might irritate his brother. Comparing their numerous differences, few believed they were indeed kin.
Not only were they completely different from one another, but there was one large factor that kept them apart from other demon hunters. They were never brainwashed into complete devotion. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they had each other, whereas few other children who advanced to demon hunter training had surviving siblings. Though they lacked unwavering devotion to the Black Hand, in fact they despised the cult and all that it had done to them, they carried out their assignments with fervor. They had no choice; no one leaves the Black Hand. At least not while alive.
Caine never feared death, as it meant his freedom from the life he never wanted. And yet… he couldn’t leave Ryler to the machinations of the cult without him. Ryler wasn’t an idiot, which most assumed due to his lack of speech, but he lacked Caine’s calculating mind.
Gathering his courage, Caine glanced behind them and down the dark trail as their horses sped through the night. The path lay bare, allowing a faint hope to spark in his chest. They were rapidly approaching the boundary that separated the world of the living from Purgatory. Recalling the events that led them to the position they now were in, he cursed the Black Hand for giving them this assignment.
The current King, Rowan Wulfric, was not known for his compassion and ruled his Kingdom with cruelty and military force. His only daughter, Princess Abigail, having recently passed her sixteenth year, met her untimely demise at the hands of a group of men seeking to use the child as leverage. They sent word to the King that she would be unharmed and returned should he reward them with an ample amount. Enraged, the King feigned compliance, sending his men to retrieve his daughter under the guise of a hand-off. Strict orders were given that, along with the return of Abigail, the assailants were to be detained for punishment. During the skirmish, not only did the men take their own lives, but Abagail’s as well.
King Wulfric had all but gone insane with grief at the loss of his only daughter. Unable to accept her passing, the brothers were brought forth and hired to pass into Purgatory. How the King knew of Purgatory and The Depths, he didn’t know. Their mission had been to scour the bridged land between the living and The Depths in search of the girl’s soul. If found, they were to bring her back across. Never had such an act been attempted nor even considered.
Ryler and Caine had crossed the border over a week ago, unsure of what they would find but confident nonetheless. Other than a lingering sense of wrongness, there was no apparent difference between the world of the living and Purgatory after passing the veil. Two days of travel brought the brothers to their first encounter. Nestled in a small clearing at the foot of an extensive mountain range, they came across a small village. The cottages and buildings that made up the community showed centuries of neglect, most structures falling apart where they stood. The most unsettling aspect of the village was the people. Men, women, and children of all ages occupied the small cottages and overgrown roads in between. As the brothers approached the village, the residents did not move, seemingly unaware of the outsider’s approach. They stood silently, facing the same direction and sharing the same lifeless look.
Ryler reached behind his back and loosened his giant battle axe from its restraint, glancing cautiously around at the village’s occupants while Caine dismounted and made his way to the nearest woman. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. Her simple burlap dress and the beads braided into her hair looked similar to the ancient civilizations he was taught about as a child. Glancing around the village, he noted that all the townsfolk were dressed from different eras. The outfits ranged from as old as the woman before him to as modern and elegant as the noblemen who walked the grand halls of King’s Court today.
Despite his attempts to get her attention, the woman would not acknowledge his presence. Frustrated, he moved on to the next closest person. The older man wore a more modern garb similar to a tradesman’s. He had just as much luck trying to get a response from him as he did with the ancient woman. Next was a young girl who looked to have seen no more than six winters. The simple white nightgown she wore was torn nearly to shreds, a dark purple ring of bruises wrapped around her neck. He tried not to think what might have caused her untimely death as he knelt beside the girl so that he was at her eye level.
“Excuse me, little one.” He said, keeping his voice soft. She continued to stare ahead with the same lifeless gaze as the others. He shifted uncomfortably, swallowing back against the dread rising in his chest. He was uncomfortable around children to begin with, and he couldn’t decide if knowing the girl was already dead and wouldn’t run crying to her parents made him feel better or worse.
“Have you seen another young girl around here? She is about as tall as my shoulders, with long auburn hair. She goes by the name of Abigail Wulfric?”
Behind the young girl, a few yards away, movement caught Caine’s attention. A middle-aged man dressed in a simple farmer’s garb had turned to look directly at him. Something about his gaze made Caine uneasy. As he glanced around the crumbling village, he noticed more people were looking in his direction. He turned back to the young girl before him. She, too, was looking directly at him. It was then that he noticed her eyes, or lack thereof. The sockets where her eyes were only moments before were now empty chasms of darkness.
The hair on his neck instantly stood on end as he quickly distanced himself from the girl. He had instinctively pulled free one of the larger knives hidden under his coat. Retreating another step, Caine crouched down, ready for an attack. No attack came. Experimentally, he sidestepped a few paces to the left. Faces of empty sockets followed his movement. He looked back to Ryler but only received the same hard features his brother always wore when waiting for Caine’s next move.
A piercing scream filled the still air. The horses startled, and Caine barely managed to grab the reigns of his mount before the steed bolted. He tried to determine where the scream came from, but the sudden silence was so deafening that he questioned whether or not he had heard it in the first place.
The scream came again, this time closer and with an edge of agony. Sheathing his knife, Caine hopped onto his horse to gain better control. The giant horse stomped fearfully underneath him. Focused on scanning the nearby tree line, he nearly yelped when his brother’s hand firmly gripped his shoulder, turning Caine back towards the village.
The people were gone. All that still stood were the crumbling cottages and deteriorating roads.
Sharing a glance, the brothers urged their horses back toward the trail they had been on before discovering the village. The horses were more than happy to comply, and the thickness of the forest quickly swallowed the ancient ruins as they raced away.
Although they left the village behind, the screaming persisted. The wails of agony never seemed any closer, but neither did it fade as they tried to put distance between themselves and the village. The shrill torment was a constant unwanted companion. Neither slept the following days, their nerves on end.
On the sixth day, Caine began hallucinating. Faces peeked out from between trees, just beyond his field of vision. No matter how quickly he turned to look, the faces were gone by the time his gaze settled on their location. Occasionally, the wind would pick up, carrying the whispers of voices. They called out to the brothers, making sweet promises and idle threats. Even stuffing moss in their ears to block out the noise proved futile.
Their sanity slipped more with each passing day, and at times, it seemed nothing could make their situation any worse. There is only so much that one’s mind can take.
All at once, the screaming stopped. Rather than relax in the sudden silence, Ryler and Caine tensed and drew their weapons. They couldn’t quite explain it, but the air felt heavier, setting their frayed nerves on alert. Scanning the darkness between the trees, Caine noticed his brother’s gaze locked on something just past the tree line beyond their campsite.
At first, they couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps just a shadow or their mind playing another trick. But the shape seemed darker than the shadows surrounding them. The object paused for a moment before moving closer and emerging from the shelter of the trees. Three more emerged behind it.
The brothers stared at the approaching figures, unsure whether to stay and fight or run for their lives. It was not like them to hesitate under normal circumstances, but nothing about the situation they were in was normal. As the shapes slipped into the far reaches of the fire’s light, they were finally able to assess this new threat. The figures hovered just above the ground. Shreds from their long, thin, torn cloaks ended with rusted shackles that dragged heavily on the ground. The sound of the metal links clinking together sent piercing chills down Caine’s spine. They were tall and thin, with hoods pulled over their elongated faces. Only their hands were visible, protruding from the dark robes.
Long, thin fingers reached out toward the brothers, each multi-jointed digit ending in a dagger-like point. Tortured faces peered out from the darkness of their hoods, patches of rotting skin still clinging to bone. They moved slowly towards the men, a total of four of them. Caine knew they should run, but he felt frozen to the spot, his limbs ignoring any movement commands. He was still unsure if he was imagining these creatures or if they were real this time. The closer they drifted, the thicker the air became and the harder it was to breathe. His chest burned as his lungs begged for fresh air.
These creatures were not unknown to the Black Hand, though they were little more than a myth. The world of the living called them Reapers, tasked with carrying the souls of the departed through Purgatory. The air surrounding the demons carried disease, leaving a path of decay wherever they passed. They had never been seen in the land of the living before, as they were forbidden to pass through the border. It was rumored that a single touch from a Reaper, assuming their victim was still alive should the creature be close enough to touch, could split and fester skin upon contact.
The piercing scream erupted in the clearing. The wail so close that their ears were left ringing. Snapping out of his trance, Caine gasped for air. He hadn’t realized that he had stopped breathing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand as blood slowly streamed down his lips and dripped from his chin.
Ryler was still trapped in the breathless spell, blood slowly making its way from his nose. Caine grabbed the larger man’s arm and dragged him to where their horses were tethered. Once he had managed to tear his gaze away, Ryler gasped for air as he mounted. Leaving their supplies behind, they kicked their horses into action and sped away from the hovering figures.
The night was silent save for horses’ hooves pounding the packed dirt of the narrow trail as they raced down the path. Every muscle in Caine’s body tensed as he leaned over his horse’s neck, giving his mount every bit of lead he could without dropping the reigns altogether. His haggard breathing distorted his sight as he looked over to his brother, Ryler, riding alongside him.
They headed directly for the border back towards the world of the living. Though they had spent just over a week in Purgatory, they had stayed relatively parallel to the border in case a quick escape became necessary. Caine was grateful then for the forethought.
As they bolted down the trail, he noticed bodies hanging from the trees. They appeared for only a second before disappearing. He focused on the ground ahead of his horse, staring directly between its ears at the trail before them. Only another mile or two, and they would be safe. He glanced at Ryler to ensure he hadn’t fallen behind. Only the empty trail spread out behind Caine with no sign of his brother.
The horses’ hooves dug into the ground as he pulled his mount to a quick halt, staring down the trail they had just come from. There was only one set of tracks from his horse in the dirt. Trying desperately to slow his breathing, Caine strained to listen. All he could hear was the labored breathing of his horse and the pounding of his own heart. Even the screams had ceased.
Caine took a deep breath, preparing to shout. He didn’t have time to consider the implications of drawing attention to himself before he was cut short by the blood-curdling scream. This time, it was different. This time, it was deeper and familiar. This time, it was Ryler. The blood in his veins ran cold. He stared down the trail, trying to figure out how to proceed. He should go back for help. They were ill-prepared for this assignment, but they hadn’t been sure what to expect in the first place.
Ryler screamed again, sounding further away. There wasn’t enough time for Caine to fetch reinforcements.
Illumination from behind caught Caine’s attention. Accustomed to the darkness, he had to shield his eyes as he searched for the source. Standing on the trail between Caine and the distant border was Abigail. She was dressed in a simple white gown, most likely the one she was buried in. An unnatural glow radiated from her, and her long brown hair swarmed slowly around her head as if underwater. Caine stared in shock at the apparition before him.
“A life for a life.”
Her disembodied words filling his head made him cringe. It took another moment to process her meaning. To take her soul back to the world of the living, he had to sacrifice the soul of his brother. He heard Ryler scream again, further this time. He wheeled his mount around without a second thought and dug his heels into its sides. To hell with the King! Nothing was worth the life of his brother except his own.
Further down the trail, Caine found where his brother’s tracks had stopped. It was as if he had vanished or was swept right off the ground. He spent only a moment searching for signs of Ryler’s horse before heading toward his screams. He stayed on the trail as long as he could before being forced to dive headlong into the trees. The screams were beginning to sound closer and more frequent. Although each scream made Caine’s blood freeze, at least that meant he was still alive.
Caine was suddenly pitched forward as his horses’ legs tangled in the thick underbrush. The fabric on his sleeves tore at his futile attempt to cover his face as he fell into a thicket of dry, dead thorn bushes. They scraped and pulled at his skin as if trying to hold Caine down until he managed to untangle himself. He turned to retrieve his horse, only to find that his mount was being dragged underneath by the mass of vines and weeds that had tangled the horse’s feet. Pulling one of his knives from his belt, he dove in after his horse.
Slashing and cutting through thick vines that moved like snakes, he almost had the beast free. He was jumping for the last thick vine, trying to avoid being trampled in the process, when a root the size of a grown man’s thigh tore through the ground and raised itself above him. Before he could dodge, it swept around and slammed into his chest, sending Caine flying backward and landing hard against the trunk of another tree. The world went black. When he managed to open his eyes again, he couldn’t make sense of the scene that played out before him.
Vines and roots popped from the ground surrounding his horse, almost completely submerged in withering vegetation. Once free of the ground, the roots wrapped themselves around what was still exposed of the animal and dragged it underground. Caine was thankful that the ringing in his ears drowned out the horse’s squeals. He willed his body to move, to at least end the horse’s suffering. A numb and tingling sensation had taken over his limbs, and he was helpless but to watch. The struggle was over within a minute. It was another minute before the feeling began returning to his limbs.
As the ringing in his ears dissipated, he realized he no longer heard Ryler’s screams. Adrenaline brought Caine to his feet and he began running in what he hoped was the direction he had been heading before he fell. He did not have the slightest clue where he was running to, but he couldn’t afford to sit and wait. Leaping away from reaching roots and dodging writhing vegetation, he had almost missed the tiny clearing. Stepping away from the tree line, he spied a singular, crumbling structure in the center. The building looked to have been abandoned, the remains consisting of stacked limestone and bricks. Behind the house was a small cellar door barely visible beneath the creeping vine slowly claiming the structure.
The closer he came to the cellar door, the harder it was to breathe as the air seemed to thicken. Dread rose from the depth of Caine’s chest, and he was struck with a sudden coughing fit. Kicking the creeping vine aside, he pulled open the ancient wooden door, rusted hinges squealing in protest. He could see a few steps from the light of the moon high above the clearing, but beyond was pitch black. Taking a deep breath that could very well be his last, Caine stepped into the passage and was immediately engulfed in complete darkness.
With one hand on the wall to his left, he felt his way along the tunnel as it continued to lead down. He had no idea how long he walked before a light cut through the darkness. The orange hue was warm and inviting. At last, the tunnel evened out as he approached the light, which turned out to be a lone torch set in a sconce on the wall. Peering further down the tunnel, he saw only darkness. Not bothering to consider how or why the lit torch came to be there, he removed it from the sconce and continued, this time at least relieved to have some light guide his way.
Caine was confronted with the stench of rot so potent that he had to stop as he succumbed to another fit of coughing. He trekked on, covering his mouth and nose with the collar of his shirt. Another light broke through the dark. Rather than warm and inviting, an eerie blue glow that barely seemed to penetrate the surrounding darkness ebbed out from around a bend. He slowed his breathing as much as possible and stepped towards the light.
Past the bend, the tunnel opened into a large chamber. The source of the eerie blue light came from a well in the center of the room, which spouted a small fountain of fire. The flames were unnatural blue and purple rather than red and orange, and no heat came from the source. Lining the chamber walls were all manner of crude devices of stone and wood. Caine recognized a few from the Black Hand repentance room, where young cultists were sent to be punished and reflect on their transgressions.
The walls were made of solid stone, the surface marred by cracks and leaking moisture. Moss and fungus lined the walls and floors, claiming a few tables and shelves too close to the overgrown surface. Nothing grew on or near the well of cold fire. In several spots along the ceiling, cages hardly large enough for a grown man hung from rusted chains that squeaked as they swayed gently, seemingly of their own accord. As he glanced around the room, he thought he saw figures in the cages. When he looked again, he saw only rusted bars.
On the far side of the room, he finally found his brother. Ryler was tethered to a stretcher table, his wrists and ankles bound by roots and thorny vines. Caine dropped the torch and ran to him.
As Caine pulled at his brother’s restraints, the thorns cutting deep into his fingers and hands, he noticed Ryler panting furiously. He, too, was having a difficult time drawing a breath. He searched for one of his knives but found none in their sheaths. He must have dropped them while trying to rescue his horse from the thickets. Cursing himself, he went back to frantically clawing at the vines. The vegetation only wiggled and tightened the more he pulled.
Caine froze. In his frenzy to release his brother, he hadn’t noticed that Ryler was soaked in blood. His blouse and overcoat were missing. His pants were nearly torn to shreds. Blood slowly dripped from hundreds of long, thin cuts across his exposed skin, the blood pooling at the base of the table. The amount of blood on the floor alarmed Caine. Unless he staunched the bleeding somehow, it wouldn’t be long before his brother lost consciousness. He retrieved the torch from where he had dropped it at the entrance to the chamber, hoping to burn the vines. He returned to his brother’s side and noticed Ryler had stopped panting. He wasn’t breathing at all.
A quiet, terrified squeak escaped his brothers’ lips as he stared into the blue flames in the center of the room. His eyes were wide with horror, pupils fully dilated. Caine couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such raw terror from his brother, not even when they were children being forced through the trials with the Black Hand.
Hissing came from behind Caine. The sound made what few hairs were not already standing on end move to do so. Whirling, he found the source of his brother’s terror. The Reapers from earlier were emerging from the flames, their cloaks catching fire and burning around them. One of the Reapers took notice of the lit torch Caine held. Like a candle wick being blown out, the flame disappeared.
Caine tossed the unlit torch, more out of anger than anything else. It passed through the figures, whose bodies shifted like smoke at the disturbance. Caine grit his teeth and moved behind the table confining Ryler, trying to form a plan. They had to get out of there, and he wasn’t leaving without his brother. Once free of the flaming well, the four figures moved no closer. They instead remained in still, watching him.
Cain’s lungs burned and begged for air. He had almost entirely stopped breathing, not for lack of trying. Blood ran freely from his nose, and he could feel himself breaking out in a fever. The edges of his vision darkened as objects around the room lost their defined shapes. He backed up, trying to get as far away from these creatures as possible without leaving his brother behind.
A sharp point dug into his lower back as he found himself against the chamber wall. There had been a weapons rack he had not noticed before. The rack was pinned against the wall, and from it hung crude knives and blades. The largest was no longer than his forearm, the shortest as small as his finger. The blades were coated in a thick layer of rust and what Caine assumed was dried blood, their dull edges covered in nicks and dents.
“A life for a life.”
Abigail appeared beside Caine, her skin illuminated in the same unnatural light from before, her hair swimming around her face. Her face lost its innocent, child-like features as his vision continued to lose focus. The tight skin around her face began to sag, her eyes sunk back into their sockets, and her hair thinned and fell away from her head, thought the strands continued to float around her. He stared, transfixed by what he was seeing. Is this what awaited them in the afterlife? If that was the case, he wanted more than ever to live.
Reaching behind his head, he grabbed the cloth-covered hilt of the largest knife he could reach. He doubted it would be much use as the blade’s edge was dull and cracked. With one heavy swing, he cut through the restraints, holding one of Ryler’s wrists. Not allowing himself to revel in his little victory, he made short work of cutting the rest of the vines. Ryler noticed Caine for the first time as he fell away from the table.
The hissing from the Reapers raised in pitch as they lurched toward the brothers. Supporting Ryler with his free shoulder, he waved the dull blade at the demons as he backed away. To his surprise, they stopped and recoiled, hissing louder, spittle flying from inside their hoods. Their reaction was not what he had expected, but he took advantage of their retreat.
With Ryler’s arm around his shoulders and Caine supporting most of his weight, he moved quickly through the tunnel. The further they moved away from the chamber, the easier it became to breathe. He expected the Reapers to overcome them, considering how slowly they were moving, but they made it to the tunnels entrance with no confrontation. Caine slid the knife into one of the sheaths strapped to his thigh. It slid smoothly into the casing like it was made for the blade.
Finally, they emerged from the trap door behind the small cottage in the clearing. Ryler slipped from his grasp as Caine fell to his knees, exhausted. He felt like acid flowed through his veins and his heart would burst through his chest at any moment. They stayed there until their breathing had settled and Caine felt strength return to his legs. His vision was finally returning to normal, but there was still no sign of the Reapers.
He forced himself to stand and drape Ryler’s arm around him. The bleeding from his wounds had slowed, but he had lost a dangerous amount of blood. He glanced around the clearing they stood in, trying to get his bearings. He had been in a panicked frenzy when he happened across the cottage and couldn’t remember which direction he had come from.
A shrill cry sounded, seeming to come from every direction at once. With no more time to decide, Caine started them off in a random direction into the thick woods, hoping they were headed toward the border. He still didn’t know how or why the creatures had not caught up to them, but he counted it as a blessing and continued picking their way through the thicket between the giant trees. Silently, Caine thanked every god he knew that the vegetation seemed satisfied with its earlier meal of horse flesh and did not come alive under their feet. Several times, he had to stop to catch his breath and make sure that Ryler was still alive, as his condition was worsening. His skin had lost all color, his breathing was shallow, and his skin felt cool to the touch. Caine feared that he would lose his brother before he had a chance to get him to safety.
Thankfully, Caine had picked the right direction, and they soon came across the road. At an agonizingly slow pace, they made their way to the border.
By the following day, they had reached the rift between worlds. Green mist settled over the ground, forming a barrier across the road and disappearing into the dense forest on either side. The swirling mists distorted his view of the other side, only the silhouettes of trees barely visible.
Abigail stood between the brothers and the border.
Her condition had not improved since he last saw her in the torture chamber. Her skin sagged from her bones like melted wax. Her eyes were so sunken into her skull that the sockets were empty. She stood hunched over as though stricken with old age. Her long, brown hair was gone, revealing a dimpled, bald head. Her gown hung limply from her atrophied body.
Ryler let out an agonized scream and fell to the ground, thrashing. Caine dropped down beside him, moving him to rest in his lap while he looked for any new injuries. Though Ryler thrashed in torment, Caine could see no obvious source of the pain.
“A life for a life.”
Anger flared deep within Caine. If not for Ryler in his lap, he would have stood and charged the apparition.
Grabbing a nearby rock the size of his fist, he hurled it at the girl. It passed harmlessly through her and landed heavily on the other side of the border. The sound of the rock striking the ground came back muffled through the thick mist.
Ryler screamed louder then, his thrashing fiercer. The skin around his face started to sag, looking sickly and ashen. His eyes sunk back into their sockets, and his arms and chest muscles atrophied. The apparition laughed as the life disappeared from Ryler.
Abagail’s young and healthy features returned as his brother’s body wilted before his eyes. Her skin tightened over her face, her simple white gown filled out as muscle returned to her bones, and hair sprouted from her bald head. Clear brown eyes shined with delight.
All at once, Ryler stopped thrashing. He stopped screaming. He stopped breathing. Unbidden tears streamed down Caine’s face as the only person in this world who knew or loved him died in his arms. Abigail continued to laugh, twirling in her gown and happily skipping around them.
Finally pulling his tortured gaze away from his brother’s body, Caine looked up to find the four Reapers hovering before the border, watching as Abigail danced around the road, singing a child’s folk song.
He had not seen them appear, though he didn’t much care at the moment. Ryler was all he had in the world. Ever since they were taken from their family and thrown into hiding to be trained by the Black Hand, all they had was each other. Ryler had always been the stronger one, always by his side. Now, he had let his brother die. Now, he had nothing to lose.
Rage overwhelmed his loss and despair. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks, but his face held no emotion. As Abigail skipped by, giggling to the cloaked figures about how pretty she looked, Caine grabbed the cloth hilt of the knife he had taken from the chamber still tucked in his sheath. He lunged at her when she was only a foot away. The knife slid smoothly into her stomach, sinking to the hilt.
Abigail stared at Caine in confusion, which quickly morphed into hatred. As she reached for the knife, Caine pushed away from her, leaving the blade embedded in her stomach. The girl wildly flung her arms in an attempt to grab him, all the while howling at the top of her lungs. Caine recognized the agonizing scream. It was the same as the those that had plagued them. She continued to shriek and fell to the ground, convulsing. Her skin burned, blistered, and then turned to ash. The screams continued as the muscle in her body disappeared, her hair falling away from her bald head. Her voice was finally cut short by a wet gurgle.
Failing to feel any emotion, Caine watched as the body of the young girl deteriorated.
“Balance.”
Caine was startled and turned toward the cloaked figures. He had forgotten they stood witness to all that had transpired. “What?”
They hissed again, forming nearly unintelligible words.
“A life for a life.”
Behind him, Ryler gasped for breath. Spinning back, Caine dropped to his knees beside his brother. His skin was still pale from lack of blood, but his face had regained some of its lost luster, and he gasped heavily for breath. Although alive, he was not conscious. Fresh tears streamed down Caine’s cheeks as he hugged his brothers’ hulking shoulders.
An agonizing scream echoed in the distance. He looked back to where he had slain the creature, Abigail. Her body was gone. All that remained was the knife lying on the ground. The Reapers were gone as well.
Caine gently plucked the large knife from the ground, inspecting the dull blade. Any attempt he had made to strike the girl’s ghost had failed—all except for this strange, dull knife. Tucking the blade back into his belt and grabbing Ryler under his arms, he dragged the larger man across the remainder of purgatory, through the border, and into the land of the living. Once safely on the other side, Caine’s last reserves of strength depleted, he dropped beside Ryler.
They were alive. They were alive, and he would ensure they stayed that way for as long as he could. Turning his head, he watched his brother’s chest rise and fall steadily as he allowed slipped into the darkness of exhaustion that had been pursuing Caine since they first crossed the border into Purgatory.
