Shattered Pentacle

If the Autochthonous Depths were unwelcoming, setting foot in the Dead Dominions was like venturing onto the surface of an alien planet. Lyra kept as close to her group as she could, magical tool ready in one hand and the words of a spell on her lips. Not that it would matter—most of her magic wouldn’t even work on the dangerous ghosts of this awful place.

The Dead Dominions, or at least this one, was a battlefield. The ground was mud and broken stone, lined with trenches and dotted by foxholes. Gunpowder smoke hung in the air like fog, and the frequent shouts and rumbles made her ears press flat to her hair.

See and hear like a cat, great idea.

At least the thick fog kept them hidden. Distant outlines moved through that fog, marching and running together.

“Why would someone come here to hide?” Reagan whispered, staring out at the desolate wasteland. “Her enemies in the real world might not find her, but if she gets killed by ghosts instead...”

AJ rested both hands on her hips, expression unreadable. “Before you take another step, you should know these.” She bent down, lifting a piece of rusty metal from the ground and brushing the dirt from it. Plain English words were stamped into its surface, only slightly corroded on the edges.

Never retreat from battle.

Obey your superiors.

Fight like gentlemen.

“What does that mean?” Lyra asked. “Any of those rules. What are they for?”

“Us. Anyone who enters the Dominion. While we’re here, we obey. If we don’t, the punishment is... severe. Usually inescapable, by the way. Somewhere in this place is a... little god. While we’re in its Dominion, it’s basically invincible. If we get them angry, the only thing to do is run. I’ve never seen someone win a fight with one. Doesn’t matter how magical you think you are.”

Tabitha nodded her agreement. “I’ve had the misfortune of encountering the Kerberos for myself. They are every bit as dreadful as AJ suggests. We can’t fight them.”

Reagan held something up in one hand—a compass? It had the same shape, anyway. A single large needle floated freely, suspended by metal covered with Atlantean runes.

“Wish we didn’t have to go this way. Our girl’s in there. Close.”

“Fight like... gentleman?” Lyra repeated. “Wait a minute. I think we can use that.” She turned to the alchemist. “Tabitha, how would you feel about some fashion magic?”

Her eyebrows went up. “I would never say no. But are you certain this is the best time?”

“It’s the perfect time.” She spun in place, gesturing out at the trenches. “You know what a gentleman wouldn’t do? Shoot at a nurse. Who’s a better nurse than a magical one?”

“Clever,” Tabitha said. “Though I do believe there’s a... slight complication. Your healing won’t work on a ghost. If you’re actually asked to heal anything...”

Lyra straightened, forcing a smile. “Well. I believe I know enough magic for that. Which I believe would make this my chance.”

“What do we do, wait? Dress us all up. We can be a medical team... something like that.”

She adjusted her hat, frown deepening. “Possible. Kerberos knows we’re here. Might already have ghosts on their way to meet us. Arguably I’m a higher rank than a ghost, but if the Commander shows up...” She nodded at the metal again.

“Best way to get through the Dead Dominions, least as far as I’ve seen, is to play along. Follow their rules, be a part of the show. Same with a tree—sometimes it just wants to grow the way it grows. Forcing it will only kill it dead, or make sure it never fruits.”

“Very well.” Tabitha removed a dull metal rod from her pocket, twirling it once in her hands. “Four Great War nurses. Or... is it five?” She eyed the burned ghost, though never quite looked at him for very long. Who could?

“Thoughtful,” the ghost whispered, distant. “No. All know what I am.”

It didn’t take long, not with a master of Matter magic working with them. Soon their practical clothing was all white skirts and aprons and the like, with bright red crosses visible on everything. All except for AJ’s old leather hat, which stubbornly refused to change even under the pressure of Tabitha’s magic.

She took it off and tucked it away instead, completing the outfits.

From there, it was a simple matter of walking out in the open across a deadly battlefield.

They had some advantages—human ability alone would probably not have been enough to keep them alive.

But magic could do a lot. Tabitha switched off the mines before they activated any, and Reagan warned them where active battles were taking place, long before they got close enough to see.

It meant a relatively safe approach, without ever blundering into the ongoing battle.

Plenty of ghosts saw them. A few even waved, offering friendly greetings as they passed between narrow gaps in the fortifications. They always waved back, hurrying along before they could be given instructions.

Finally, the muddy landscape met a set of rolling hills. Even these had their own military presence—checkpoints manned by soldiers wearing a disordered mix of uniforms across many years. Their weapons were similarly bizarre—some carried flintlocks, others modern rifles, and everywhere in-between.

They passed through a military checkpoint, then spent a few hours in a little hospital tent, where ghosts suffered a variety of familiar battlefield ailments.

Lucky for Lyra, she still remembered her first aid. They were nurses, not surgeons, so no one asked her to perform any miracles.

Besides, as AJ explained, there was no point. “Ghosts can’t die,” she said, while they worked over a particularly grim patient. “World’s too cruel for that. Unless you’re deliberately trying to kill them forever, they’ll always be back. Best we can do is ease their suffering.”

They worked for hours, until they’d tended to every ghost in the tent. Instead of taking the offered place in the camp, they left the camp behind, following Reagan’s spell. They continued past more minefields, through barbed wire and over craggy hillsides, until they reached an opening in the cliff.

“Here.” Reagan pointed. “She’s very close. No way she isn’t in there.”

“Someone has to go in first,” Tabitha said, clutching her little white cap close to her head to keep it from blowing away. Thanks to her Matter magic, their clothes remained clean, despite all the awful things they touched in the medical tent. “AJ, perhaps? She’s one of yours. You might even know her.”

AJ laughed. “Is that how it works? You know every witch?”

“Not all of us at once?” Reagan asked. “She’s probably not expecting visitors.”

“And that’s precisely why it has to be one of us,” Tabitha declared. “Imagine what it might be like in her place. You’re hiding in a battlefield, ran all the way to the edge of creation. Something drives you to flee this far from civilization. We must approach as though she were a... frightened animal.”

“I’ll do it.” Lyra stepped past her, moving for the cave entrance. “I know fear, probably more than the rest of you. and if she’s hurt, I can help.”

AJ shrugged. “Whatever you do, hurry. You all are gonna need a top-up on whatever magic you’re using to look like ghosts. I can already almost feel you.”

“I’ll work on it,” Tabitha said. She leaned against a nearby rock. “Just a moment to catch my breath first.”

Lyra slowed as soon as she reached the opening, giving her feline eyes a moment to adjust. Even a cat couldn’t see in total darkness—but there was some light beyond.

A fire by the smell, its glow diffusing off pale rock. I’m in a cave inside a cave. Or something even stranger, technically. The Underworld wasn’t a physical space the same way as a real cave.

“Hello?” she called. Not a shout, she wanted to be gentle. Quiet enough that she wouldn’t startle whoever was hidden inside—she hoped. “I’m a friend, promise. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She didn’t see or hear anyone yet, but that didn’t matter. Her magical senses pointed straight back into the cave, towards the light. There was a living person within, somehow enduring in this awful place.

They weren’t too late. Lucky for the survivor, and for Akiko.

Gentle or not, her words brought an instant reaction. Panic, flight, anger. Powerful instincts, honed to a razor's edge by a life of desperate survival.

Lyra could imagine exactly how she felt—terror that no flight was far enough. Had her enemies found her even here?

“I don’t have a weapon,” she said. “Just a utility knife in my blouse, that’s it. I’m coming in slowly. You don’t have to be afraid.”

This time, that provoked a reaction. “Stop!” A young woman’s voice, hoarse from disuse. “Whoever you are, you’re wrong if you think I’ll just let you kill me. I’ll take one of your lives before you take one of mine.”

Lyra stopped in place. She couldn’t help it—she giggled. “I don’t think I’ll ever be enough of a cat to get extra lives. My familiar can come back from the dead—but he uses a different cat each time. I don’t think the animals get more lives.”

The speaker got suddenly quiet and stayed that way for almost a minute before continuing. It worked—the anger was gone, replaced with something more familiar. Confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Promise not to attack me? I can come in and tell you.”

“You promise first. Swear by the Styx.”

Whatever that means. “Fine! I swear by the Styx I’m not gonna attack you. Or by whatever the hell else you want me to say.” She moved forward again, feeling her way along the wall.

The cave opened into a larger room, though it was by no means spacious. A little fire pit next to an opening in the ceiling, a makeshift sleeping area, and a corner of various bits of junk piled together.

Two people waited in the room—or a girl and her ghost, anyway.

She looked like the photo, if the girl in that picture had been lost in the woods for a few months and had to eat bugs to survive. Her skin was thin and sunken, collarbones and ribs visible through threadbare clothes. She had a dagger in one hand, held out in Lyra’s general direction.

That knife worried her far less than the spirit lingering in the air behind her. A bat, bigger than any she’d ever seen. Its features were stretched and monstrous, with only a few patches of human skin visible beneath. That head was among the ugliest she’d ever seen, with fangs as long as her arm dripping with something deep red.

Lyra held up her hands again, palms out. “Not here to fight. See, I’m a nurse! I’m here to save your life.” She reached back into her satchel, fished around for a few seconds, and held out an apple. Its bright green skin seemed completely out of place in such a lifeless realm.

Her own hunger could wait, though. She held it out, just as she might’ve to a frightened animal. That was why she’d come. “Here, take it.”

Jaqueline obliged. She stabbed the fruit with her dagger, then held it to her mouth. She sniffed, then bit into it with a savage, desperate ferocity. “Not paying you for it,” she said, with her mouth full. “You said I could have it.”

“I did,” Lyra agreed. “I’m here for more than an apple. I’m your ride out of here.”