Jason

Their destination turned out to be a townhouse, one of many in a row that curled in a semicircle around a shared courtyard. Esar opened the door, and light bloomed out from the entryway. Jason hesitated out on the walk underneath one of the eerie blue lamps, letting Kelsam and Naomi go in ahead of him.

“Come on,” Esar called to him.

Jason steeled himself and stepped over the threshold into the vampire’s lair.

Not that it was much of a lair. At first he thought that the room had some kind of botanical wallpaper, but the walls were actually covered with small drawings of plants. Precise lines with flowing colors—ink and watercolors, Jason guessed, with labels written in a script he couldn’t read. The furnishings weren’t much to look at; a low wooden table on a woven mat, cushions stacked up in a corner, and a bookshelf stuffed to overflowing.

And then there was the gigantic, ornate cabinet that stood against the back wall of the room, so ostentatious that Jason couldn’t help but stare. It was lacquered glossy black, with a stylized eagle in gold and red spreading its wings across the doors of its upper half. Underneath that were rows and rows of little drawers, each with a golden handle.

It looked as out of place in the room as Jason felt.

"Close the door, if you don’t mind," Esar said.

Closing the door behind him made Jason feel trapped, like a prisoner locking his own cell. He did it anyway, glaring at Esar the whole time. Asshole.

"What I would like to know—"

"Esar." Kelsam spoke softly, but Esar broke off his question and turned to him. "I’m going to go get a futon. Keep an eye on her." On his way out, the man paused to do—something, Jason didn’t see what—and the light in the room dimmed.

Esar crossed the room to stare down at Naomi, arms folded. She’d curled up in a ball on one of the cushions, shoulder leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Every now and then she shivered.

"What’s wrong with her?" Jason asked. Esar didn’t answer, and Jason took a step closer. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see that Naomi was drenched with sweat. "What’s wrong with—"

"She’s just drained her vitricity, far as I can tell," Esar said.

There was that word again. Jason still didn’t know what that meant.

"She drained her what?"

"I hope that’s all." Kelsam had returned carrying a large cushion. He unfolded it into a mat long enough for Naomi to lie down on, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "Here. This ought to be more comfortable."

Naomi’s eyes fluttered open, then she shut them tight again. She uncurled herself to stretch out on the mat, then shuddered and clutched her head, whimpering.

The bearded man drew in a breath. "I don’t like this," he said. "A fully trained healer would be able to—"

"No," Esar said sharply, then went on in a softer tone. "I’m sorry, Kelsam. It’s very important that—"

"Excuse me," Kelsam said briskly, pushing past him to leave the room once more. Esar watched him go before turning on Jason again.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Me?"

"I don’t see anyone else here—at least, no one in any state to speak."

Jason swallowed, his throat dry. "Hell if I know. She’s the one who did it, ask her."

"And as I just pointed out, your companion is not fit to explain herself at the moment. I want to know why you are here."

"That makes two of us, all right? Why don’t you tell me who you are? Yeah, and why were you standing there waiting for us, anyway?" His voice rose in volume as he built up momentum. Shouting felt good. It burned away some of that sickening feeling in his chest.

"I wasn’t waiting for you. I was expecting her—" Esar tilted his head towards Naomi. "You weren’t supposed to be there!"

"Damn right I wasn’t! I’m still not supposed to be here. I don’t know what the deal is with you, and her, and this whole—thing—but whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it!"

Naomi cried out, twisting back and forth like she was trapped in a nightmare. Jason flinched.

"And yet, here we are." Kelsam didn’t seem to be speaking to anyone in particular. He had returned with a damp cloth, then knelt next to Naomi to place it on her forehead. After a moment, she stopped thrashing about, though she still jerked occasionally. Her breathing slowed to a more regular pace.

Jason turned away. Why did he feel sorry for her? She deserved it, didn’t she? This was all Naomi’s fault. It had been her idea that they should meet up in the first place, and everything that followed was because of what she had done. All he’d wanted was to find out what happened to his father, not—not all of this. Jason’s hands shook, but he made a valiant effort to stay calm.

If he could make them understand that it wasn’t his fault . . .

"This was all a mistake. I tried to stop her. She . . . we were in a museum. And even little kids know you’re not supposed to touch the exhibits in a museum, but she—she was staring at this false door. That’s what the card next to it said, anyway, but it looked just like that big slab of rock that was in the water in the park. And she reached over the railing that’s supposed to keep people back, and I was like, ‘what are you doing?’ and she looked like she didn’t even hear me, like she was in a trance or something. So I tried to grab her hand, pull her back before she got us in trouble. But I couldn’t pull her back, and when she touched the door, everything was all—colors. Lights and darkness. And then cold and wet."

"And that’s . . . everything?" Esar asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jason shrugged. "Pretty much." He couldn’t say more without making it sound like he was mixed up in this, too—and Jason was trying very hard not to get himself mixed up in this.

"Are you all right?" Kelsam asked.

"Fine." His voice sounded muted to his own ears, like it was coming from far away. "Just perfect."

Kelsam shook his head and tossed a cushion at Jason’s feet. "Sit down. You’ve had a rough day."

Jason sank down on the cushion. When had his body become so heavy? He had to rest his head in his hands.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. He’d just been curious. Just wanted to find out why his father had disappeared, the things his mother never told him. He’d never dreamed that it would lead him here. If he had—

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All of a sudden, Esar was looming over him, glaring down at him. "How did you find out about the door?"

Jason jumped. "I didn’t know anything!"

"That’s enough, Esar!" Kelsam pulled the taller man aside before he could continue his interrogation. "He’s just a kid, and he’s obviously terrified, and I don’t blame him. You keep demanding answers, well—maybe you need to give him some answers first. And while you’re at it, explain it to me, too, because I still don’t have a clue what’s going on. I’m doing my best, but—"

"Kelsam." Esar said it softly, and a moment passed in silence as the two men stared at each other. Jason looked away. Whatever was going on between the two of them, it was none of his business.

"I can’t explain because I don’t know everything," Esar said.

"But you know something."

"What I think I know might be wrong."

"Did you know that there was another world?"

Esar didn’t answer. Jason chanced a look back at them, then looked back down immediately, cheeks burning. Kelsam had his hand on Esar’s cheek to hold his gaze, and Jason wished he was a million miles away. He knew that they were a couple, and that was fine, whatever, but did they have to . . . touch . . . like that? As if he wasn’t uncomfortable enough already?

"I hoped . . ." Esar began.

"You knew about them? You knew, and you didn’t tell me anything?"

"I didn’t know. It’s all a blur, Kels!" The floor creaked as Esar stepped away, pacing across the room. "I’ve got pieces here and there, coming back whether I want them or not, but I can’t put them all together. What good does it do to tell you something that doesn’t make any sense?"

"What good does it do to keep it a secret until—until this happens?" Kelsam swept his arms wide, shaking his head. "I know it’s hard, Esar, but . . ."

What was his grandmother doing now? Jason was supposed to meet up with her again for lunch. What would she think, when he and Naomi didn’t show up? What would she do, call the police?

No, not at first. She’d sit in the cafe, getting more and more annoyed. Maybe send a few sarcastic texts. It would take a while for her to realize that something was wrong. But she’d never know—how could she know—

He couldn’t hold in his tears any longer. He tried to keep quiet, to hide by drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, burying his face, but they had to see, they had to know that he was crying. And what did it matter if they did? Nothing mattered anymore.

"I’m going to die here," he whispered. "I’m going to die here, and nobody will ever know what happened to me."

"You’re not going to die here. Your friend got you here, she can send you back once she’s recovered." Esar sounded more exasperated than sympathetic, but his words were a ladder of hope out of the pit that Jason had fallen into.

"When? When will she recover?"

Esar looked to Kelsam, who took a moment to reply. "It takes time to recover from depletion this deep. At least four days, could be five—"

"That’s too long!" Jason cried out.

"A minute ago you were scared of dying here. Now four days is too long?"

“You don’t understand! My mom’s dead, I’m all my grandma has! She’s going to be worried sick about me!”

“That’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing I can do about that,” Esar said.

"Esar, that’s enough." Kelsam stepped between them and gently pushed Esar back. "You need to back off and calm down. Go take a walk. Pick up some dinner, unless you feel like cooking. I’m not up to it."

"No. You can go to the refectory if you want. I ought to stay here with them. This wasn’t supposed to be your problem."

"It is now," Kelsam said. "Go on. I think—I think we’d all feel much better with full stomachs." He said it brightly, but once he’d ushered Esar out the door, his shoulders drooped.

"I didn’t want to be anybody’s problem," Jason said.

"It's not your fault." Kelsam turned back with a weary smile. "Can I get you anything? A glass of water, or some tea?"

Was this some kind of a trick? Kelsam playing good cop to Esar's bad cop? Well, whatever it was, Jason's throat was bone dry, so he decided to accept a drink. And it turned out that water was water, in this world as well as his own.

Strange, how something like that could give him any comfort in such a situation, but Jason felt a bit more at ease after he drained the glass. He was still terrified, but he'd taken a step back from the brink of absolute panic.

And Kelsam didn't try to press him for more information. He didn't even attempt to make small talk. He looked out the window for a while, fidgeting with the loose ends of his braided belt, then went to check on Naomi. She barely even twitched when he flipped the cloth on her forehead to the other side. Kelsam placed two fingers on her neck. Checking her pulse? Or her temperature, maybe?

The quiet gave Jason's mind room to wander. It couldn't hurt to ask one question, right? Since he was stuck here for a few days anyway?

"When . . . when he said she drained her . . . what was it? Vitricity?"

Kelsam nodded.

"It's magic, right? Some kind of magic. She did some kind of magic that brought us here."

Kelsam frowned. "Magic?"

"I mean—I don't know. Never mind."

"You . . . you don't know what vitricity is," Kelsam said. He sounded bewildered, as if Jason had just said he didn't know what food was. "It's the innate energy gifted to all humanity by Rith."

"Rith?" Jason repeated the name with interest before he could stop himself.

"Oh. If you don't know what vitricity is, then I suppose you wouldn't know about Rith, either," Kelsam said.

Jason didn't correct him, even as the invocation echoed in his memory. Rith of the generous heart, merciful giver . . .

He shoved his mother's voice back and shook his head. "Who is s—who's Rith?"

Kelsam's voice took on the cadence of a storyteller. "Long, long ago, our ancestors were cast adrift from paradise and landed on a cruel and unforgiving shore. Suffering and death followed them constantly in this unfamiliar land. Parents starved themselves so that their children could eat, and then disease claimed their children's lives.

"Two beings of great power bore witness to their wretchedness. We call them the Intercessors, because they interceded in human affairs, but we believe they were only two out of countless divine entities, aspects of a greater divinity beyond our capacity to fathom. They were sister and brother, and their names were Rith and Azil.

"Rith had a merciful heart, and she was moved to pity by the suffering of humanity until she could bear it no longer. But her hard-hearted brother Azil scolded her for her weakness. It was the lot of humanity to suffer, and if she interfered, it would disrupt the balance of the world. For a time Rith heeded her brother's admonition, but as the burden of suffering mounted higher and higher, Rith resolved to intervene.

"In order to give them the strength to survive their harsh circumstances, she gave up her own divine power and bestowed it upon humanity. Each and every person received a spark of her divinity, a wellspring of energy and strength—the gift of vitricity. Thanks to that gift, they were now able to heal from injury and disease, and to better withstand hunger and fatigue. They could build a society and a civilization.

"But Azil was infuriated by what his sister had done. The power that she had granted to humanity was not intended for mere mortals to possess. Although he could not undo her sacrifice and revoke her gift, he could bestow his own gift on humanity—or rather, he imposed his curse. To ensure that humans remained mortals despite our newfound power, he imposed upon us the Blight. As we advance in years, our vitricity wanes, and in the end we are once more subject to the final authority of suffering and death."

Jason waited for Kelsam to finish. His story wasn't quite the same as the version Jason knew, though the broad strokes were the same. And that wasn't the end. He knew that it wasn't.

"Until Rith returns, and frees you from the burden?"

"What? No, no!" Kelsam shook his head vehemently. "Both Rith and Azil sacrificed themselves when they made their gifts to humanity. They are gone. Their legacies live on in us, but the Intercessors are no more."

Why do I keep opening my stupid mouth? "It was just a guess."

Kelsam sighed. "I'm sorry. You couldn't have known—I shouldn't have been upset with you for suggesting it. Some people believe that Rith will return, but . . . no. Her sacrifice is an example of limitless compassion and generosity. Her spirit is within us, but the being known as Rith is no more. It's up to us to use her power to care for each other, not wait for another Intercessor to lift our burdens."

"She didn't bestow it on me," Jason said. Or on his mother.

"I see," Kelsam said. "I am sorry. I can't answer why she bestowed her gift on my world, but not yours. Only . . . that girl . . ."

Jason lost track of what Kelsam was saying. All he could hear was his mother reciting that prayer, over and over again. Rith of the generous heart, merciful giver, I entreat thee, lend me thy strength. I welcome your gift and embrace your spirit, and ever shall I be a worthy steward of that which thou hast bestowed upon me.

She'd made him recite it along with her, and he'd done it, because you didn't argue with your mother when she was dying, when modern medicine and the God she'd learned about in Sunday School had both failed her. Sometimes—when she had a good day—he almost believed it. Almost believed that the crazy cult she'd joined as a teenager had been on to something. Almost believed that a goddess nobody else believed in could bring about a miracle.

Most of the time, though, he'd seen it for the hopeless charade it was. Only now, it turned out that his mom had been right about at least one thing. Rith had been real, or real enough for Kelsam to believe in her. But there was no hope. Never had been any hope.

They'd been praying to a dead goddess all along.