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I had only seen the faint outline of the shore when I’d actually been in Gulakah’s mind, but now I was walking on it. Which meant that either I had to know about it somehow or my mind was trying to fill in the details.
Pausing, I turned to the open sea. The gray waves crested against the shore, leaving a sickly foam behind. I knelt down and stared at the lacework residue. Why gray? But I knew the answer. During the times I’d been in the Netherworld, gray mists had roiled through, and the sky was an unending silver.
There was never any change, from what Shade had told us. Since Gulakah had been the Lord of Ghosts there, of course his energy would be filled with the silvery mist. The same as many of the spirits Morio and I dealt with.
Something about that thought registered as important. I tried to reason it out.
Ghosts…Ghosts are left over and out of place—spirits who haven’t moved on. They’re unnatural, out of step with the Eternal Return.
As I knelt on the edge of an ocean of nightmares, it hit me like a brick wall. Gulakah was a god out of step—a god who didn’t belong in the natural order. He’d sought to increase his power, which would have put him even more out of sync with the Netherworld, because all realms had their own balance. And when things got out of balance…
“Very good, Camille.”
Startled, I almost fell forward but caught myself. I turned around.
Standing next to me was a woman as elegant as a diamond necklace. She was a little taller than me, and buxom, wearing a beaded corset in shades of ivory and silver. Her skirt was long and flowed to her ankles—the color of mist. Beneath a headdress—silver and crowned with crystal antlers—her hair flowed to her knees, its color caught between white and ice, and her eyes were deep black, with silver flecks.
In one hand she held a thin wand, in the other a sparkle of glowing light. It twinkled as she held it out, then blew on it. The light flew up from her hand into the air, where it spiraled for a moment, then took a nosedive toward me, exploding as it covered me with light.
“What—who are you?” I stood, still naked. But she didn’t even blink.
“Don’t you know me, Camille? You should. I’m Pentangle, the Mistress of Magic.”
I stumbled back, then fell to my knees and bowed my head.
Pentangle, one of the Hags of Fate. Pentangle, the Mother of Magic.
“My lady, what would you ask of me?” I had no clue how Pentangle had ended up in my thoughts, but I decided to just go with the flow.
“First, you aren’t roaming in your memories.” She smiled faintly, and the energy flowing off her blasted through me like a surge from a furnace, leaving me a toasty pink.
How had she read my mind? Could she be right?
“Then where the hell am I? If I’m back in Gulakah’s mind, shouldn’t I be feeling stark, raving terror?”
She gazed beyond me, toward the unending ocean. “You are not in Gulakah’s mind, although yes, you were…the first time.”
Before I could speak, she held up her hand.
“Yes, I know what happened. I am the Mistress of Magic. I guard the strands that manipulate energy. I know much of what goes on in the magical realm, when I choose to direct my focus. And I know what happened to you. I can read you like the books you so love. Don’t play shy with me, girl. I could dip into your mind and strip you down to the core, should I choose.”
I’d only ever encountered one other Hag of Fate—and that was Grandmother Coyote. And she seemed more human than Pentangle. Grandmother Coyote was firm and solid and lived in the woods near our home. Or at least she had a foothold there.
The Hags of Fate were immortal, like the Elemental Lords and the Harvestmen. Powerful beyond even the gods, they usually intervened in human affairs to right a balance gone wrong. Even if that meant giving evil a nudge now and then. They usually kept to themselves, but when they appeared, you knew something was about to break loose.
“Then where am I?” I glanced around. If I wasn’t just roaming through my memories, and I wasn’t in Gulakah’s mind, I must have been…where?
“You’re standing on the edge of the Ocean of Anger. You’re in the Netherworld, and you’re looking at one of the strongest forces that keeps ghosts tied to the mortal realm. This body of…emotion…is created by all the residue anger and fury that ghosts bring with them to the Netherworld. And it was Gulakah’s undoing. He began to use it as a personal magical source, and the more he focused on it, the more powerful the angry ghosts became in the mortal world. That’s why he was cast out—he disrupted the balance. But the damage has been done. The energy pool is too powerful, thanks to his meddling, and the balance continues to shift. The ocean feeds too many spirits over on the mortal planes. They, in turn, keep feeding the ocean, creating a synergistic effect.”
I knelt down and touched the liquid with my fingers. Once again, the feelings of terror and powerlessness ran through me, and I glanced at her over my shoulder. “So, my fear?”
“You are corporeal. Your fear is a normal reaction. The angry ghosts thrive on it. So does Gulakah. The ocean that you were lost in? You slipped into his connection to this primal pool of energy. He has found a way to continue to tap into the Ocean of Anger from where he now resides.”
And with that, Pentangle turned and began to walk gently up the shore, the silvery sand shifting as she made her way through it. Her feet were bare, and the edge of her hem trailed along the moist dunes.
“Wait! Why did you show me this?” I started to follow her but found I could not move. My feet were stuck in the sand.
Over her shoulder, without turning around, she said, “Because you needed to know. Do not forget my words. The only way the balance here will be restored is with Gulakah’s defeat.”
