Lin

  The world came back in pieces.

  First it was sound.

  A low, distorted thrum that wavered like a struck bell underwater, the sound fraying at the edges and knitting itself again, over and over. It was the threads, their music muffled and strange as they struggled to knit themselves back together. Beneath it pulsed the fading echo of the explosion, a rolling thunder that still seemed to vibrate in the bones of the earth.

  Then it was the smell.

  Sharp, acrid, like metal scorched in a forge.

  And finally, motion.

  Hlin’s voice, rapid and anxious, threading through the quiet in fragments of English woven with something older and jagged.

  Lin blinked hard. Her vision swam, light flickering at the edges of her form. The park around her was shrouded in a haze of smoke and dim, trembling gold. Down the hill, the city lay open: Space Needle a beacon, ferries tracing pale seams across the black water, windows burning in little constellations. The sight should have steadied her. It didn’t.

  Dozens of places where the black ichor had landed were still smoldering, each one eating into the grass with a hiss that made her stomach twist. Thin ribbons of smoke curled upward, the stench of corruption clinging to the air.

  Overhead, the golden threads sagged like wounded limbs, their usual glow dimmed, some frayed, some snapped entirely. They looked wrong in a way that made her feel sick: strings gone slack on an instrument that wanted to sing. Their music wavered, struggling to stay whole.

  Then, Lin’s stomach sank as she realized the gravity of what just happened.

  If the bridge was gone, so, then, was the way between worlds; the path Auntie Holly had made to reach Auntie Red. She saw it like a door slammed shut: Holly and Ariel on one side, her on the other. Panic pricked up her spine. She counted a breath.

  Please be okay, she thought.

  Please.

  Lin swallowed, throat tight. Her own light guttered like a candle in a draft. “Hlin… what happened? What was that?”

  Hlin stopped pacing.

  Her muttering cut off mid?syllable as she turned toward Lin, her expression softening into something deeply maternal and even more afraid.

  “The sound we heard…” she began quietly, the words threading out of her like regret, “the drumming… the chanting… that foulness corrupting the melody…”

  She exhaled slowly, the breath trembling. “That was a defilement, Lin. Of a holy ritual. One Saga herself created to protect the bridges between worlds. It should have sounded clear and merciful, like bells reflecting off still water. What we heard was that same shape turned inside out.”

  Lin stared at her, mind struggling to catch up. “A ritual? But...how?”

  Hlin shook her head, eyes glimmering with an ache older than the ground they stood on.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “I feared this might happen one day. Prayed it wouldn’t. But what came through that portal…” She looked toward the smoldering ruin where it had once shimmered. “It means something reached into that ritual and twisted it.”

  Lin’s mouth opened, but no words came. She wasn’t sure she even had any.

  The threads around them shivered, echoing her fear.

  And then, a guttural, inhuman growl rose from one of the smoking pools of ichor.

  It gurgled as it moved: thick, wet, like someone breathing through tar. The air around it went cold; a smell like pitch and pennies rolled off its surface. The puddle convulsed, drawing itself up by inches until it stood taller than Lin, a column of blackness shouldering into a vaguely human shape. Limbs extruded and retracted, settling with a nauseating slowness.

  Its surface never stilled; it crawled over itself, rippling with oily sheen. Two hollows opened where eyes should have been, and from within them came a ghastly sound: old, hungry air forced through a narrow throat.

  Pressure rolled across the lawn and hit Lin like a weight. Sound dulled, colors thinned, as if the world itself were being pressed through a screen. Obscurity and heaviness crawled over her skin; the light in her dimmed and stuttered. For a split second, she was a girl of flesh again, shaking, breath shallow, then a flare of gold, then dim once more.

  “Lin.” Hlin’s voice cut through, low and firm. A hand closed around Lin’s wrist. “With me.”

  The creature took a dragging step. The grass beneath its foot sizzled and blackened. A low growl tore loose from its chest and vibrated through the ground.

  Hlin pulled, guiding Lin backward across the park, keeping her body between the girl and the thing as they moved. Their shoes skidded on damp grass; the iron railing at the overlook flashed past on their left, benches on their right, the city a bright hush below.

  The further they went, the thinner the pressure felt. The music of the threads, broken as it was, grew the slightest bit clearer.

  Lin’s breath smoothed as her flicker slowed. She dared a glance back. The ooze-thing tilted its head as if scenting them, then began to follow, each step leaving a smoking print in the grass.

  They stopped near a rise of stone edging the overlook. Hlin shifted, keeping one palm lifted toward the advancing shape, the other still wrapped around Lin’s wrist.

  “Breathe,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

  Lin nodded, swallowing. Her light steadied to a faint, wavering glow. Overhead, the frayed threads quivered like nerves exposed to cold air.

  Hlin glanced up, jaw set. The threads above them hung in tatters, their shimmer stilled to a faint, pained tremor. She released Lin’s wrist only long enough to reach toward the nearest broken strand. Her fingers brushed the light, and, with a quiet resolve, she poured her will into it.

  The thread took the power like a parched throat takes water. Golden fibers zipped closed along the tear, tiny motes spiraling off like fireflies, each one chiming as it winked out. It knit with a clean, bright bell tone that rang through the park; one clear note, then another as the mend spread along its length.

  The sound moved through Lin like warmth. Her flicker steadied. Breath loosened in her chest.

  “Good,” Hlin murmured, eyes never leaving the light as it healed. “Stay with me. Keep breathing. Four in, four out.”

  Lin swallowed. “What… what is that thing?”

  Hlin lowered her hand and turned, placing both palms on Lin’s shoulders. The goddess’s face was tender and grave in the trembling gold.

  “It carries Gloymr’s power. Only a fragment. A spawn born from what was hurled through the breach.” She glanced past Lin toward the smoking smear that had begun to move. “They can be undone. But not by force alone.”

  Her gaze returned to Lin. “You’ll need the threads. Don’t force them. Let them move through you the way music moves through a room.”

  Lin nodded, then stiffened. Across the lawn, other black puddles quivered, bubbles swelling and breaking on their surfaces.

  “Hlin,” she whispered. “There are more...”

  “I know.” Hlin’s voice was calm, urgent. “Which is why we must be quick.”

  Lin drew a breath, then another, deeper each time, counting four in, hold, four out; letting the rhythm cradle her until the shaking in her hands gave way to a steadier glow. With every inhale, her light pulsed brighter; with every exhale, it held. The threads nearest them shivered as they leaned closer.

  She lifted her chin, steadier now. “Tell me what to do.”

  Hlin’s mouth softened into a small, proud smile. She squeezed Lin’s shoulders once.

  “You are light manifest, Lin… so, move like light.”