Page 24 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Halpert smiled once more before leaving, but not before he glanced curiously at the oddly wrapped bundle of cloth sitting on her table.
The journey away from the Ruins of Veilthorne was marked with a heavy silence, the feeling of giving up sitting like a weight. With the threat of another midnight looming along with the freshly forged bond with Silas, she knew leaving was the wisest choice.
The team had packed up the campsite early, each of them moving with relief, smoothing over the lingering alarm on their faces. There had been a soberness as they readied, Frank standing near the dying embers of the fire, holding Hank’s backpack, the contents within and the sleek chestnut horse now without an owner. Frank had searched all morning for signs of his counterpart. He had slunk back empty-handed, a sadness etched on his face that came from losing someone you had worked with and cared for across many years. Amelia had watched him return alone, the shake of his head telling her all she needed to know, and she had wished to cry. To tilt her head to the sky and let her sadness out at the unfairness of it all.
Soon after, they said their goodbyes and parted ways, Silas and Amelia steering their horses south, while the rest headed north.
Her horse, Tempest, carried her across the land. She was a sleek, dark mare with sharp eyes and a temperamentthat some might say matched her rider. Tempest, saddled with her belongings, trotted along the plains of the Rift. Silas sat stiffly atop a chestnut gelding ahead, a tension between his cloak-covered shoulders. She watched Silas look around them uneasily, glancing often towards the eastern horizon.
He would turn to Amelia every so often, exchanging a silent look with her.
After a few hours of riding, his reason for the attention to the east slowly came into view. Tempest picked her way over the uneven ground, each hoofbeat sending up sand and dust. Her head began to shake, mane flinging about, as though sensing something sinister.
There, sitting in the distance was the Southern Monolith. A dark, jagged pillar of obsidian-like stone, it stood fractured but unbroken. It seemed impossibly tall, stretching into the dimming sky. The air around it seemed darker, shimmering, and shifting unnaturally as if reality struggled to contain it.
Amelia had only seen the Northern Monolith before, its sleekness and proclivity for exuding light was the direct opposite of its counterpart. This one sent a shudder down her spine, the darkness matching the blade that sat in her saddle bag. She had spent so much of her life studying to understand the Monoliths and the magic they provided, yet as she stared at it in the distance, Amelia had a sense that it was not meant to be understood. It simply was.
They slowly passed as they journeyed south, but the closer they came, the more Amelia felt off-kilter. There was a pull towards it, like the tide, or like gravity itself. She wanted to tug on Tempest’s reins to move towards it, while simultaneously having the urge to kick at her sides to beg her onwards with haste.
Silas turned in his saddle. “I’ve seen this Monolith so many times before, but,” he said, his voice carrying back to her on the light wind, “…it feels different today.”
She swallowed, unease growing. “I feel it too, like I’m being…called to it?”
Silas nodded, brows pressed together with apprehension before he turned away. His heels kicked softly at the sides of his horse, moving quicker across the desert-like landscape, Amelia’s own horse keeping pace instinctually.
It took another two hours’ worth of riding to reach the edges of the Rift.
The border was marked by an invisible threshold, a long line where the blighted, sandy terrain softened into dirt, rocks, and lush green grass. As they approached, Amelia felt it, the magic softening, the humming she felt in her blood dimming into something quieter. She hadn’t even realised how loud it had been inside of her until it began to ebb away.
Tempest and Silas’ horse, Ember, seemed to sense it, too. Stepping with more confidence and shaking their heads as if shedding some unseen heaviness they had been carrying on the journey. The air began to feel different, lighter, and fresher, carrying the scent of rain on distant rolling fields.
Then they crossed.
There was nothing subtle about the feeling of moving from the Rift and into the Shadowlands. The sky seemed clearer, and the sun felt warmer. The ground felt firmer yet looked softer and more welcoming. The feeling of the magic that had coated her felt like a mere memory of a dream she could hardly recall. Amelia’s body seemed lighter, and her next breath felt like the first in hours, her lungs expanding with the clean air.
She looked back over her shoulder, the desolate Rift stretching out behind her like a dark, open wound. Amelia hadn’t even noticed it, but there was a darkness to the air thatshe could openly see now that she wasn’t amongst it. She blinked and turned away, wondering at all the years she had spent dreaming of venturing into those lands. Now, Amelia could hardly comprehend ever wanting to return after only a handful of days.
Ahead of her, rolling green hills rose and dipped, the grasses looking golden in the dipping sunlight. It exuded a sense of safety and comfort.
Silas pulled up his horse until she caught up to him just beyond the border. He looked sideways at her. “Do you feel the difference?”
Her eyes fell shut and her chest rose on another wondrous inhale. “I feel a million times better.” Amelia basked in it, smiling softly. She opened her eyes to find Silas watching her. “Is it always like that, or is it because of the cuts that it felt so immensely horrible?”
He took a moment to answer, his eyes wandering across her face and pausing on the slight smile still sitting there. “I’ve been into the Rift a few times, and it’s never felt like that. We’ve triggered something, I think.”
Amelia was quiet after that, smile fading away. Silas looked past her, towards the Rift and his face changed quickly, a frown pulling his mouth downwards.
She followed his gaze but didn’t understand what was causing the line between his brows. “What is it?”
Silas didn’t answer, swiftly dismounting from Ember and only wincing slightly as he landed on his injured leg. He strode the distance back towards the edges of the Rift.
She saw it, then, the breath stalling in her chest.
Amelia slid from Tempest and hurried closer.
They stood at the border, the toes of their boots brushing where firm, grassy dirt met the blighted sections of the Rift.
And several paces ahead of them was the marker. A worn, weathered stake sunk into the ground, now surrounded by the uneven terrains of the Rift.
