Or what used to be the city.
Beyond the gates, Touchstone seemed to be on the verge of fading back into the nothingness of the Between. Looming stone buildings flickered in and out of existence, there one moment and gone the next. Structures were fraying apart at the edges, looking fuzzy as tendrils coiled slowly into the air. A fountain in the center of town appeared nearly transparent, the water spewing from the top turning to mist before it struck the basin.
But the city wasn’t just fading. As we ventured deeper into Touchstone and drew closer to the mansion, I began to see the chilling signs of an attack. Structures had been destroyed, buildings had collapsed or been torn down by some massive force. Several trees lining the road had been snapped like kindling, and one was nothing but a burned, charred skeleton, branches crumbling to ashes in the wind. Everything was eerily silent, lifeless, like this was a photo someone had shot in the aftermath, not a living, breathing city.
“Where are the Forgotten?” Meghan wondered, blue eyes scanning the destruction. When I had last come to Touchstone, the Forgotten weren’t exactly swarming the roads, but there were at least a few skulking about in the shadows. Now, the streets were empty and silent, seemingly abandoned. “Have they all left the city? Everyone can’t be gone.”
I didn’t answer. At the moment, I didn’t really care about the Forgotten. My present concern was finding Keirran; when he was safe, I would worry about his subjects.
Touchstone Manor shimmered into view in the mist, an old mansion sitting atop a hill overlooking the city. Inside the manor it was very nice; well-lit and comfortable, if a little empty. Keirran’s Forgotten staff were a reticent bunch who shied away from being seen, so visits to the manor usually only involved us and Keirran. But the outside of the manor resembled a classic Gothic mansion, with pointed arches, spiky turrets, and soaring windows. It stood silhouetted against the moon, imposing and ominous, looming over Touchstone like a gargoyle.
“The manor is still intact,” Meghan observed as we made our way up the long, winding road to the mansion. She sounded cautiously hopeful. “Perhaps Keirran is still inside.”
I wanted to share her optimism, though all signs pointed otherwise. The damage wreaked upon the streets and buildings. The empty city. The way Touchstone itself flickered and wavered as if it was struggling to hold on to existence. But I knew Keirran was strong, both in will and magic. I held out hope that we would find him, alive, in the smoking ruins of his city.
Because if we didn’t, I wasn’t sure what I would do, but something, somewhere, was going to pay.
We reached the top of the hill, and my hopes died a little as I saw the massive hole that had been torn out of the front gate. Stones had been crushed, trees uprooted, and the ground had been churned to mud by something enormous and powerful. The manor itself was dark, and that same dead stillness hung over everything. We slipped through the gate into the courtyard, staring up at the mansion, searching for a monstrous silhouette perched on the roof, but nothing could be seen in the mist and shadows. Whatever force of destruction had come through, it was gone now.
Nyx drew in a quiet breath, her attention suddenly shifting to one corner of the manor, where a few stones lay behind a low fence. It looked like a simple pile of rubble to me, but Nyx shook her head solemnly. “The anchor has been damaged,” she murmured, “but it doesn’t look completely destroyed. Maybe Keirran was able to save it.”
“But where is Keirran?” Meghan wondered as we walked toward the looming front doors. “If he’s still here, we would have seen him by now.”
“Also,” Puck commented, “is the fog getting rather aggressive, or is it just me?”
The mist around us was growing thicker, creeping over the ground and sliding forward at a concerning rate. In seconds, it had surrounded us, turning the courtyard white, making it impossible to see more than a few paces ahead. And it felt...angry. The mist was a writhing cauldron of rage and hate, ghostly tendrils clawing at us as it billowed forward.
I drew my sword in a flash of blue light, seeing Meghan do the same. Beside me, Puck pulled his daggers, and Nyx raised her arms, twin blades of curved moonlight appearing in the hands of the Forgotten.
Shadowy figures began rising from the carpet of roiling fog, hands reaching out of the mist like grasping zombies. The whispers grew louder, turning into growls and snarls of rage, as hordes of shadowlike things emerged from the fog. They looked like Forgotten—black, featureless silhouettes with glowing golden eyes—but their frames were twisted, literally bent out of shape. Their bodies were contorted into grossly impossible positions, limbs stretched and wrenched out of place, yet somehow able to move. One creature crawled toward me with its spine bent backward, long arms twisted at the elbows like a grotesque spider. Another staggered toward me, jaws seeming to dislocate and distend like a snake’s as it wailed. Whispers rose into the air, tangled and fragmented, snatches of words lost in the storm.
Nyx recoiled, her own golden eyes filling with horror as the misshapen creatures staggered close. “Are these Forgotten?” she whispered in disbelief. “What did this to them?” A Forgotten stumbled close, neck bent at an awkward angle, its head hanging down by its knees. Nyx backed away, her expression haunted as she gazed at the approaching shadows, before it hardened. “What happened here?” she called into the horde. “Where is King Keirran?”
“Imposter.”
I couldn’t tell which of the shadow creatures had spoken, but the rest of them exploded into sibilant whispers:
“He is not Forgotten.”
“Not one of us.”
“You are not one of us, either.”
“Traitor.”
The twisted shadow fey pressed closer, their voices growing louder, angrier. “You stand with those who would destroy us,” they hissed. “Who shut us away in this void to Fade and be forgotten. But we will not Fade. We will not forgive. We will rise up and take back what was stolen.”
I narrowed my eyes. This was treading very close to outright war talk, and apparently Meghan thought the same, because the Iron Queen stepped forward, her power filling the void like the energy before a storm. “We are at peace now, Forgotten,” she said, as a tide of blank yellow eyes turned on her. “The war has ended, and the courts no longer consider you a threat. There is no cause for another conflict between us.”
“Queen of Iron.” The motley assemblage of shadow creatures hissed, and the depth of anger, fear and loathing in their voices made me clench a hand on my sword hilt. “Ruler of corruption. You would damn us to Fade, just like your kin.”
Anger stirred. A cold, dangerous anger that I hadn’t felt in years. The fury of the Unseelie prince.
“No one wants you to Fade.” Meghan took a step forward, earning an outbreak of wails and hissing from the gathered mob. “No one desires your destruction. The Lady is gone, and the Nevernever is at peace.”