Page 98 of Promise of Darkness
“There’s an old myth that there were children born from the seed of the Old Ones,” he says. “The children of destiny. Of fate. Of power. But…. They were hunted to death once the wars were over.”
“But aren’t the Old Ones locked away?”
“Why do we light the bonfires on Lammastide?” Baylor asks. “Why do we sing the old songs on Samhain? Why do the stones guard the Hallows?”
My mouth tastes dry. “Because the Veils thin on those nights, and their prison worlds align with ours.”
“It’s rumored that the Old Ones can walk this world twice a year,” he continues. “Beltane and Samhain. Their powers are muted, and they’re forced to return by morning or risk seeing their soul cleaved from their bodies, but it’s possible.”
“We bound their souls to the prison world,” Finn explains. “It’s how they were trapped. Their souls cannot pass the Veil.”
“Am I the only one in this room who wasn’t born when they walked the world?” I ask.
Everyone exchanges a look.
Baylor, Finn, and Thiago have clearly known each other for years. There’s a hint of brotherhood between them, though Thiago is clearly the leader.
“I wasn’t,” Eris says gruffly. “But I’ve seen the ruins and heard the stories. It’s enough to know they shouldn’t return.”
Thalia shrugs. “Nor was I, though I missed it by a matter of a year.”
“So somewhere out there, a child was born from one of the Old Ones,” Thiago murmurs, a strange intensity lighting his eyes. “Perhaps even several children. And Angharad wants to get her hands on one of them.”
“What would that mean?” Eris demands. “What sort of threat are we looking at?”
“The Old Ones were immensely powerful, their magic drawing upon the ley lines,” he replies. “Any child could potentially do the same.”
“We’d be facing them again,” Finn says, looking horrified.
I hold my hands up. “We don’t know that any child would be a threat.”
“How could they not be?” Baylor demands.
“I’m not as concerned with any child,” Thiago says. “If they’re out there, then they haven’t yet reached their full potential or we’d know of it. No, I’m more interested in what Angharad wants with them.”
“Their power,” Eris snorts.
“Their ability to control the ley lines,” adds Finn.
“Their link to the Old Ones,” Baylor says quietly.
It’s this last statement that causes the room to fall quiet.
“Could they do that?” I ask.
“The Old Ones had worshippers who could act as a conduit of their powers,” Thiago replies. “I don’t see why any child of theirs wouldn’t be able to serve the same purpose.” He frowns. “Angharad worshipped the Horned One. If she wants this child—these children—then it’s for a purpose that bodes ill.”
I know enough to know the Horned One is the last Old One the world wants to see again. The Unseelie King, Hyperion, served as his conduit and sought to rule the world, driving his followers south to conquer the continent. Angharad was once his lover, and she’d do anything to see him resurrected.
Though Hyperion fell in battle, Angharad stole his body away, and there are rumors she keeps him entombed on a mythical island in the north, which was warded away from the ravages of time. There he slumbers in the Gray between life and death, with his crown still resting upon his brow and his hands clasped around his sword.
Waiting for her to restore him.
If she somehow accesses the Horned One’s power, then she could bring Hyperion back. I never lived through the wars, but I can see them painted in a swift blur of prediction. Blood. Death. Catastrophic blasts of magic. More cities would fall. Thousands would die. The Horned Ones would walk again.
And this time, he’d be prepared for any trap.
“What do we do?”
