Janinda Egrethore had always hated being her father's daughter. To date, the only passably good thing about this family was never having to fear that she would be poor or homeless. Somehow, though, now that everything was going to hell, she found that the trouble and stress only made her blood surge with renewed vigor. Although Amon was a nightmare, it was without a doubt in her blood to survive the worst trials life could offer, and those trials were now upon her.

Janinda had watched her father carefully plan ways to cheat death, and she had also watched him improvise. She had watched him plan for betrayals, and watched them sneak up on him. She had watched (with some private satisfaction) as Roan became less and less stable over time, even helped him hide or one two minor things from their father, only where she was not utterly repulsed by what he was doing. She thought that was her father's blood legacy: a legacy of unstable, cruel, wanton malice, one that perhaps she would succumb to some day--but if she ever did, it would only vindicate what she thought about her useless, petty, hateful father. His bloodline should never have existed.

But now that she was caught in a plot, caught between numerous betrayals, she found herself calmly steering through it. No madness, no hate, just a level-headed ruthlessness.

Kel'thar had betrayed them; this surprised no-one. Amon had come up with contingencies for Kel'thar before the man was ever hired, including some that Janinda only knew about after she snuck into his files and read through them, some years ago. Amon himself, of course, had refused to do the one and only thing that would save his life, and instead crawled out of his hole to come here of all places. Then, with Kel'thar turning violent, he had made a panicked escape, and Janinda had no time to ensure that he succeeded.

He no longer mattered. His amputated hand was soaked with blood, his face was pale as death, and he would not survive the day. The Egrethore blood within Janinda saw these pieces line up in her head and understood immediately that the path forward was to leave him behind. What else could she do? Realistically?

The Inquisitor was behaving oddly; though it--he, she, whatever--should have been slow, ponderous, methodical, and cruel, it was now moving like a very different person. A puppet, perhaps; some kind of construct or worse, the kind that could be sacrificed easily while the one controlling the puppet was safe. If that was the case, for all she knew, she might now be in the presence of a royal alchemist or even the King himself.

If it were not for that, Janinda would have had the utmost confidence that the Inquisitor could handle Kel'thar, because magic in this room was always strange, and only the Inquisitor seemed unaffected. Even now, as the Inquisitor reached for a torso-sized axe on the wall, lifted it one-handed, and moved towards Kel'thar... she couldn't shake the thought that something was wrong.

Why had Kel'thar called her sister? That seemed the least interesting riddle posed to her right now, especially with his death imminent, and yet...

And yet the world warped around Kel'thar, and the axe became ash, and the inquisitor split into head-sized chunks of meat. Before Janinda could do more than stumble back one step, the loose cloth that covered the body of the inquisitor howled, a sound that she more felt than heard, and the destroyed body, and most of the torture implements carefully racked in this room, vanished.

If one of these things wasn't enough to reduce Janinda into a shuddering wreck, three of them together should have been. Yet the blood in Janinda's veins simply ran cold, and something within her made her stand straighter. This was a disaster, but she was, regrettably, her father's daughter, and disaster was an old friend.

"You are Kel'thar," Janinda declared, watching the man's eyes carefully, measuring him with her mind sense, and she drew her knife, preparing at any moment to raise what magical shields she could. "You are no brother to me. I had only one, and Roan--"

"Your brother, indeed, is dead. I am sure you enjoyed disposing of the body. You never were a fan of me, after all, at least not after that day." Kel'thar sneered. "You were so eager to run me through--you and my bitch, together. But you never understood what we held in our hands, did you?"

"It would have to be Bronze Deite," said Janinda, although she knew little of the metal. "What does it matter?"

"It matters, dear sister, because Deite bridges the gap between worlds--the metal is named for the gods because it touches upon their realm." He gestured with one hand, and the metal ingot flew up from where it lay on the table and into his hand. "When I died, I fell into a place beyond mortal reach, a place the gods could not see. Were it not for that infernal creature of father's, I might still be dead, but no, I know the secrets he thought he kept from me. Not for nothing did father pollute the same well he drank from, exposing himself and his family to the Taint. To learn the secrets of this metal is to advance in your magery beyond all reason."

And then, in his hand, the metal twisted.

Janinda was always one to keep tabs on her family's abilities, if mostly second-hand. Father's best element was Darkness magic, of course, but he would not have been able to use it without strong knowledge of Wild and Water magic--the power to forcibly read minds and the power to bind them, and the same with magical phenomenon. Roan learned a great deal about water magic, and some of light and darkness, but he was never good with Wild magic, and he was garbage with the rest.

Earth magic, especially advanced earth magic, was something foreign to their family. It didn't do for them to do labor. They were leaders, nobles. And yet in Roan's hands--if indeed this was Roan in the body of Kel'thar, as he claimed--the metal ingot became a flat disk, and the disc became a symbol, a symbol Janinda had seen in her father's study, but never heard answers about, a symbol that she knew was there, but some days could not see.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The symbol was a face that seemed like it was forever screaming. If she had not seen it in the process of being shaped, she would have been unable to recognize it for what it was; as soon as it finished, it no longer held meaning to her. The face was now only a symbol, a thing she didn't understand. She knew, and was forbidden from understanding.

"Are you curious?" Kel'thar's voice was a whisper.

Janinda closed her eyes and let the cold blood in her veins guide her. "No," she said as she opened her eyes. "Whether you are Roan or Kel'thar, you must know this is not the time. The Order is here, and they will--"

In response, Kel'thar pressed the metal against the wall, and suddenly there was a long hallway where there had been stone. "Come, sister," the voice said again, and Janinda felt a creature behind the words, a creature that was neither Kel'thar, nor Roan Egrethore. "Only death awaits those that remain. The Order will show you no mercy, for father will die, and you are the last blood to take responsibility for this crime. No... your life in this world is over. Come," he offered his hand, "and start a new life in the next."

Janinda eyed the hallway, but it appeared to very much be a physical place. She knew without question that touching Kel'thar, or letting him cast upon her, would be death, but running back into the arms of the Order...

Why not? Did she not dare? So much could be laid at Amon's feet. She had done little--no, nothing...

Are you curious? The voice behind the voice whispered to her. Magic once had no rules. The rules of man were put in place in order to guide you, but they only hold you back. They are tools for children. Stand, and you shall see beyond...

Janinda glanced around, finally finding a large knife--almost thick enough to be another of the Inquisitor's axes--which she could pick up, in addition to the small knife she already held, and her normal sword. Somehow, she didn't want to draw her sword, not here... the atmosphere was saturated with the Taint, and she felt the metal itself would rot.

"My life is not yours," she said, holding the knife towards Kel'thar, or Roan, whoever it was. "If you want me to trust you, even a little, then we will trade. You will take me to a place of my choosing--in this world, not the next--and we can speak there. Someplace safe for you, if you must insist. But I am not going to follow you into madness and death."

Kel'thar's head twisted. "We can speak here," he said. "Even the gods dare not approach. Are you afraid of being overheard?"

"I can feel the Taint here, brother--if you are my brother," she snapped. "You know what it did to you. Certainly, even if you have gained something, somehow, from the Taint... you also know how much you have lost. Allow me to decide for myself whether I do both or neither."

That made Kel'thar's smile fade. He regarded Janinda coldly for a long time. And then, with a wave of his hand, the atmosphere that surrounded them both shifted. The taint was still there--it was not that easy to be rid of--but it was so much less powerful that she felt a palpable relief. "Lost, you say," said Kel'thar, and Janinda could hear her brother's familiar sulking attitude behind the words. "I am among the lost now, sister dearest, but never was I allowed to choose. That creature--the red being in the hidden place--that creature is a monster. It was there that I first saw black flame, and knew the disgusting truth of magic, the secrets of this family, the cruelty of life itself."

"I followed Father, on a day even you thought he was not at home, but he was. You were young, sister, and trusting. You watched the lane out front as though you saw him leaving, but he was behind you all along. Did you ever know he touched you, when you thought you were alone? Or was he kind enough to hide those from your memories? He knew power too well, sister, and he knew powerlessness. He wanted more than mother. He drank the wine of womanhood and wanted to sample every vintage. He wanted every visitor to forget the feel of his fingers, but feel them they did."

As Janinda watched rage and disgust in Kel'thar's face, she lost all doubt that her brother was behind the mask. "That day I hurt you... the day we stopped acting like brother and sister. Back then, I did not understand, because he had done it, and you didn't understand, would never understand. He won. We both wanted to take, and he succeeded where I failed. You have met Chandra, but I wonder, do you know why the bitch appealed to me so? Because like mother to father, like you to me, she was a woman I should have been unable to have. A prize too great to chase, too dangerous to hold in the palm of your hand. I was supposed to be unworthy."

Kel'thar stepped up towards Janinda, but she held the long knife between them, and he stopped. "But I had power. The impossible was mine, Jani. She was proof that I was worthy. She was my redemption. I mastered the black power of necromancy and made her a puppet. When she proved too resilient, when I could not bend her entirely to my will, I hired help to break her, and it was all over."

"After all this time, you still obsess over me?" Janinda's voice was level. Her brother's rant was sickening, to be sure, but it was also... less surprising that she had expected it to be. It was something that was... simply... true. She understood now some scars that she had always known she had, and she understood his twisted nature just a little better. But it did not redeem him, and it would not heal her. More importantly, it would not save her. Every fiber of her being was still obsessed with surviving this, and this disgusting display was only a sideshow along the way.

"No... and very much yes." Kel'thar's disgusting face leered at her. "I am mad, sister, and I know it. Before my life is done, I will taste you, and I have no doubt you will hate me for it." He licked his lips, but his face fell. "But this is not the time. This forsaken place, sister, does not understand you, and it will not save you. Beyond the walls of this room are traps more deadly than any our ancestors could devise, traps that will spring shut on you if you step back down the hallway... or take any of the other exits."

"Free yourself," Kel'thar held a hand to her. "I promise not to bite... not yet."

Janinda was not so far gone as to be swayed, and yet she also could feel an enormous tide of magic behind her brother, magic of a form that did not register to her magical senses. If he used that to smash her will, she knew she would be gone. So she raised the knife and kept it between them, but circled towards the gateway that her brother had opened.

With her other hand, she lifted her own knife to her throat. "Don't push me, brother, or I will end myself. So help me, you know death is preferable to your..." she snarled. "...teeth. Take me to the lake. If you can find any shred of sanity there, we will talk again. If not... one or both of us shall die."

Kel'thar's eyes had an odd light to them, but as he appraised her, the light seemed to fade. Somehow, Jani thought, she might actually get through to him.

"As you wish," he said. "I'll stay back and guide you with words, but you must trust me and follow them. Heaven knows, dear sister, I know I am a boor right now, but you won't survive the trip without a guide, and only I can see Beyond."

"What lies down the hall?" As she asked, Janinda took her first hesitant step into the gateway, but the floor on the other side seemed exactly as steady as it appeared to be.

"That place which is one step closer to divinity," replied Kel'thar. "The closest mankind can possibly come--the border between here and the Astral Plane."