Those Who Would Not Be Gods

21. Escape: Raff

A horrible rumbling noise split the night, a screaming, screeching noise like fingernails on blackboard, but a thousand times louder, and somehow deeper, too. Raff felt himself launch into the air. He braced himself to fall, but—didn't. His body was held aloft, enveloped in the same darkness as before, or was it stronger? He struggled against it, clawing at nothing. Not again! Not now!

Light burst through the dark.

For a second, he was staring at the ceiling, somehow horizontal instead of vertical. The last tendrils of darkness released him, and he fell. Raff braced his hands behind him. They gave with the force of his landing; his head snapped against the floor. Disoriented, Raff stared ahead, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. A bright gash striped across the wall. No. Ceiling. Blue and green, dancing across the sky. The soulstream, Raff thought. And then, how? They were underground. They couldn't see the soulstream.

A chunk of glass as large as his fist shattered beside his head. More of the sky appeared as the roof tore itself apart. The edge of the gash crumbled as he watched, chunks of glass and soil raining from the sky. It looked as though it was collapsing under its own weight.

What if the circle was holding the cave together, too?

In the distance, someone coughed. Raff snapped towards it and found Cecile on the floor, a hand clasped to her throat. Behind her was the man in the green cloak, crumpled on the ground. His limbs were twisted and distorted in ways limbs should never be—Raff looked away. The illusionist was gone. He had no idea where the man was.

Edith stood on the altar, her shadow drawn around her like a cloak. Eyes black from corner to corner, she gazed down on them all. Her shirt had been torn open at the neck down to her chest, and was soaked with blood. Did one of the stones scratch her? Raff wondered. Even in his disoriented state, he winced at the idea. Sounded painful.

Clasped to her chest with both hands was the Godstone.

"The Godstone!" The cloaked man stood. His left leg sagged under him and one arm hung limp, but the other one stretched out to Edith. "I knew you could do it."

Edith smiled wide. She stepped off the altar and coasted closer, almost gliding over the ground. Raff felt sick. So here she was, betraying them after all, just like he'd known she would. He should have seen it coming. He had seen it coming. She had no reason to be loyal to them. Still, it hurt, watching her hand the Godstone to the man who'd hurt Cecile.

"Edith, don't!" he tried, even though he knew it was pointless. She'd made up her mind long before she'd met them. It was his fault for not grabbing the Godstone while he could.

A pale hand reached out from under the cloak. Pale fingers brushed the surface of the stone.

Laughter pealed out, not crystalline or dry or warm but high, sharp, dangerous. It took Raff a moment to register it as coming from Edith; it was utterly unlike anything he'd heard from her yet. She dropped her hands and danced backwards. The stone remained frozen in place, clinging to her chest where she'd held it. No, not clinging. Stuck into, the stone a part of her chest. A dark bruise spread around it, coiling black veins under her skin. It looked sick. It looked sick, and yet, looking at her, Raff somehow felt that he was looking at Edith as she had always been meant to be, as if she had been incomplete until now.

"No," she whispered, and the whole cavern rang with it, as if it had been waiting for this moment, this word, this voice. Raff was relieved for just a second before the wrongness of it struck him. This was not Edith. It couldn't be.

"Cajetan!" the man shouted.

The illusionist appeared from thin air, plunging down at Edith, knife in hand. Edith flicked her hand. Cajetan flew sideways, batted out of the air like a fly. He hit the wall hard and sunk down it, unconscious.