“It’s gonna break!” he shouted.
“No, it ain’t,” Sigrid spat. “Watch.”
She rocketed to her feet, nearly barreling into a merchant holding a crate over his head. The man cursed something fierce as he strolled on, but she wasn’t fazed. Rand couldn’t even help if he’d thought she’d needed it. His little sister, small as she was, battled that fish with all of her adolescent might, and before Rand knew it, she had it out of the water, squirming from the hook’s end.
“Ha, I beat ye!” she exclaimed. Without even a hint of hesitation, she pulled the fish free and tossed it into their basket. The first one of the day.
It was nothing impressive, about the length of her forearm. Still, she kneeled over it and marveled at the catch, eyes glinting like that of a conquering hero returning home. Rand imagined she looked about as proud as Liam after he’d defeated the wicked mystics of Panping once and for all.
“See, I told ye I’d keep us fed,” she said.
Rand forced a grin, desperate not to let his wounded pride show. “What, on this tiny thing?” Rand lifted the fish by its tail. “Even mother can’t make a meal out of this.”
“Yer just jealous.”
“Gimme that.” He snagged the fishing rod. “I’ll show ye how it’s really done.”
“Oh, do ye need help hookin another worm—or just a bucket for when ye puke?” She chuckled and gave him a nudge.
“Very funny.” He got to work preparing. “But ye see, little sister, I’m just lettin ye win so ye’ll feel better.”
“Oh, then ye won’t care when I tell Dad I beat’chya?”
Rand gritted his teeth, glancing over to see her wearing that mischievous grin she always donned when up to no good.
“Ye won’t.” He cast the line and this time, forced himself to focus. He’d only ever been good at fighting. Nothing else. Fighting to protect her, or himself, or just because. Sigrid, on the other hand, seemed to be good at everything, ever since she’d learned to walk at half the age Rand had been when he had. His darling, impetuous, perfect little sister.
A part of him always knew that when they were older, she’d look out for both of them. But he’d be damned by Iam if he didn’t find a way to look out for her, too.
The memory of that day came rushing to Rand as he stood before Lake Yaolin, watching the soft ripples about the still water. It looked like a sheet of iron beneath the dark gray clouds. And just like that day when he hadn’t caught another fish and Sigrid went bragging to their parents, he spotted nothing living within the waters. Not even weeds.
“Why have you come here, Rand Langley?” a ghostly voice addressed him. He looked up and saw a mystic floating over the water. Her body was ethereal, phasing in and out of his vision as she moved, flowing robes swelling beneath her.
He sighed and looked around. From a distance, Yaolin City was in fine shape. The field of sweeping roofs—pinks and oranges and reds—extended in every direction, most of their tiles undamaged. Some portions were covered in ash from buildings suffering fires, but all in all, the city remained pristine. It was nothing like how Dockside had been after Nesilia’s cultists had their way with it.
But her streets were a different story. Bodies littered them haphazardly, left to rot, and breed disease, and nobody seemed to care. Grimaurs, filthy, humanoid birds pecked at the remains while others filled the sky, looking for territory to claim. Rand had lived a long time, and he’d never even seen these foul beasts said to inhabit mountain caves. Now, they were everywhere.
Those that weren’t dead—Panpingese men and women, cultists in robes so red, Rand couldn’t even tell that they were soaked in blood, visitors from the rest of the Glass Kingdom—all roamed aimlessly. Some stopped to watch him from a distance but never got closer.
“I want to see my sister,” he said.
“Good for you,” the mystic said. “And now you can leave knowing that she doesn’t want the same.”
“I don’t believe that.”
The ghostly mystic swooped down before him. He turned his cheek against a cold, like death itself, that seemed to radiate off of her.
“Leave. Now,” she whispered, her voice piercing his soul. It felt like icicles formed along his spine.
He swallowed hard, then shook his head. “No.”
“Do you know who I am, mortal?” the mystic asked. “I could make you wish… beg for death. A mere snap of my fingers and I could make you squirm. I don’t care that your sister shares a body with my own.”
As she spoke, a great beast emerged from the water. First, Rand saw the thick tentacles, long as two dozen horses nose to tail. They slapped around the coast and in the water, sending waves coursing every which way. Then, two large, black eyes followed and a maw filled with enough sharp teeth to render Rand unrecognizable.
He stood proud, defiant until the monster roared, sending him shrinking back. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t run. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and shakily stood his ground.
“Now, now, Bliss, there’s no need to be so rude to our guest.”
Rand looked up and spotted his sister standing atop the sea creature’s head. Or, at least, this version of her. White hair whipped in the wind like a phantom. The tenor of her voice carried on the wind, familiar, and yet so different. It sounded like a refined version of the Sigrid he knew, with no Dockside accent. Her eyes were dark and menacing. Rand had seen them like that only one other time before White Bridge—when she fired an arrow through a Drav Cra warrior trying to have his way with her.
“You’re back?” the mystic called Bliss said.
“Still as observant as ever,” Sigrid said.
“Watch it, dear Sister. I buried you once before.”
Sigrid hopped down from the monster. The fall was far, but she landed as if it were only a step. No buckle in her knees, no strain.
“It won’t be so easy to stab me in the back this time,” Sigrid whispered. “Besides, we both want the same thing. We know now who the true enemy is.”
“That we do,” Bliss said, staring up to the sky, where dark clouds swirled over the Red Tower at the lake’s center. It looked like one of the hurricanes which sometimes tore through Dockside, only there was no wind or lightning. And the still, gentle silence of it was unnerving. “And He can’t see us now.”
“No, He can’t—“
“Sigrid!” Rand barked to get her attention.
He stomped forward, bracing himself in the face of the glare she shot his way. There was none of the sister he’d once known in it, but as soon as her expression softened, he saw her again. Every memory of their lives rushed through him in a flash. For so long, he’d dreamed of leaving Dockside, of being something great, like a Shieldsman. In the end, only Sigrid really mattered to him, and it took too long for him to realize it.
“Watch your tone,” Bliss said, winding her spectral form around him. Her fingers grazed the back of his neck like steel left outside during the last days before Freefrost.
“That’s all right,” Sigrid said. “He’s just confused. Iam taught these poor mortals so little. They can’t be blamed for their ignorance.”
“Buried, but not dead,” Rand said. “You said that when I was last with you. I know what it means; I was a Shieldsman. You’re more than just an upyr now, aren’t you?”
Sigrid smiled, her one cheek dimpling how it always had. The sight of it made Rand’s heart skip a beat. “You know who I am.”
“I heard Sir Unger and the others speak it on the battlefield. But I cannot believe…”
“Say it, Rand,” Sigrid teased. “I want to hear it from your lips.”
“Why are you doing this, Siggy?”
“That’s not my name. Say it!”
“You… you’re the… you’re Nesilia. The Buried Goddess.”
“Yessss,” she moaned. Her eyelids flickered, jaw trembling as if she’d just taken a hit of manaroot.
Rand stepped toward her for a closer look. His muscles
seized. He wanted to shrink away and cower, but he fought the urge.
“Are you even in there, Siggy?” he asked softly.
“Of course, she is,” his sister’s tongue answered. “Sigrid has been a wonderful host. She understands what this world needs.”
“And what is that?”
“Freedom,” she said.
“I watched what you did at White Bridge,” Rand said. “I see what you’ve done here… I…” He cleared his throat. “The Sigrid I know wouldn’t do all this. She wouldn’t kill all of these people.”
“Do you really know her, now?” Nesilia asked. “After all, you did leave her alone to die in Yarrington.”
“I was trying to save her!” Rand shouted, verging on tears that had become all too familiar. “I thought I was helping.”
“That’s the problem,” Bliss said. “Men… they always think we need their help.”
“I know what you are,” Rand said. “I’ve seen what your followers do. Sigrid has seen it. There’s no way she would help you. You’re the darkness that everyone in the Glass Kingdom fears at night— man or woman. You’re the absence of Iam’s light.”
“Iam,” Nesilia scoffed. Bliss joined in somewhere behind him but he dared not look. “Is that what the priests teach you while He plunges this world into war and greed? While He watches from high above as you slaughter each other? Sigrid has seen what my followers are capable of, and she realizes that there is no madness in their pursuit of freedom. There are only those strong enough to live free with them. And, now, she is amongst them.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Rand said, finally. “I want to talk with my sister.”
Nesilia was close now, pacing. She eyed him in the way a wolf does a lone, injured doe. He’d always been taller than his baby sister, but now he felt small, minuscule even.
“Your sister wishes for me not to harm you,” Nesilia said. “And so, I will not. You are lucky; her will is too strong for me to defy her wishes.”
“You should have taken a body like mine,” Bliss said. “The mystic’s spirit is barely a whisper in my ear. Pathetic, yet oh, so powerful.” She extended a palm, and lightning crackled around her fingers.
“Sigrid understands what she must,” Nesilia replied. “This world has fallen to greed and false idols. They’ve lost their way like a ship out to sea, surrounded by fog. Together, we will change that.”
“By killing everybody?” Rand protested.
“Purification. Think of it like a forest fire—by erasing generations of lies whispered by the gods who’d cast me aside. They crave your prayers as they watch the wars among men.”
“And you don’t? Your cultists burned down our home! Sigrid, have you forgotten that? How they danced and murdered and raped?”
His sister’s lips twitched, but only slightly, smoothing over just as quickly. “Do you mean how they managed to infiltrate Yarrington without a soul realizing, while all your lords could think of was the gold in their pockets?”
“Sigrid can’t believe that. You say you want to free the world, but what about her? Let her out! Let her free, and she’ll speak the truth. I know she will.”
“She is freer than ever before.” Nesilia extended her arms. The great water beast at her back—which Rand had somehow forgotten about under the caustic gaze of the goddess—extended its tentacles with her, causing the very ground to quake.
“Let her out!” he roared.
He stomped toward his possessed sister, clutching her by her high collar. In an instant, the one called Bliss sent a potent gust of wind into his back that sent him flying forward into the wall of a waterside home. Vines then grew forth from the stone itself, manipulating his movements, and constricting his arms and legs.
He faced them both now, and as he struggled to catch the breath that was knocked out of him, he saw others approaching him from all sides. He couldn’t turn his head to get a better look, but they were clustered and moving as a singular unit, better even than the Shieldsmen were capable of. Surely, Nesilia was controlling them, too.
“You promised not to kill him, but what a host he might make,” Bliss said, moving in front of him and stealing his attention.
“No,” Nesilia said. “He will do what’s right. The poor soul has just spent a lifetime being lied to.” She sauntered toward him in a way his sister never would’ve. She was beautiful, but never one to flaunt it unless that bastard, Gideon Trapp, the owner of the Maiden’s Mugs, had forced her to. And she never walked like a proper lady of the court hoping to marry a noble, but like a scrappy Docksider. No longer. Her hips swayed in a way that might mesmerize any man who didn’t call her “sister.”
“Liam Notthelm, Uriah Davies, even Torsten Unger—they all lied to you, Rand Langley. They told you Iam was loving and kind and cared about you. But what kind of god allows such death? Have you forgotten the wench, Tessa? That poor girl. Iam let her die, at your hands nonetheless.”
The mention of Tessa gripped Rand’s heart like a giant’s fist.
“You have seen what evils the Glass Kingdom is guilty of,” she said as she moved in front of Bliss. The tentacles of the water beast slithered up behind her. “It took a woman of the North—my free North—Oleander and made her a monster. Countless wars. People living in the filth of Dockside and with nowhere to climb. Weaklings breeding and killing and leeching the life out of Pantego. Now, they follow her child—a boy so weak, even the slightest hint of me freeing him from Iam’s grasp caused him to throw himself from a window.”
“You drove him mad,” Rand said.
“He drove himself mad. Imagine, half the known world being ruled by a child because ‘Iam said he’s worthy.’ He rewards weakness with favor. You’re smart, Rand Langley. I know that because I know your sister’s every memory and the happiest ones are with you. I can see you both now, running through the streets, laughing, living freely until the claws of life in Iam’s kingdom dug into you both and stole your liberty.”
Rand’s eyes went wide. “How can you see that?”
“I see everything. The question you must ask yourself, Rand, isn’t who I really am. No. It’s whether you’ve been lied to your entire life. Iam is no holy being to admire, and certainly not one to worship. He’s just one of the few gods who survived after letting the rest of us slaughter each other.”
“If I recall, He had your help,” Bliss chimed in.
“Because He lied to me, too!” Nesilia hissed at her, baring fangs sharp as the sea monster behind her. Then she turned back to Rand, her expression turning sickly sweet. “I understand exactly what you’ve been through. But you saw the truth, didn’t you? You fled Iam’s Kingdom.”
“To save you,” Rand said. His gaze fell to the ground, though his head still didn’t move. “To save Sigrid.”
“From a man like Valin Tehr, who fed on the corruption of Iam’s followers like a leach. I promise you, everything that we do—that we will do—is done with your sister’s blessing.”
Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. He lifted his head as far as the restraints would allow and stared straight into Sigrid’s unfamiliar eyes. “Then let me talk to her.”
“She doesn’t want to talk,” Nesilia said with venom. “You failed her before, and while she may love you enough to want me to preserve who you are, she doesn’t forgive you. How could you expect her to?”
“I… I…” Rand stammered. His throat went dry. He frantically swiped at a tear running down his cheek. Everything the Church of Iam had taught him about the Buried Goddess, how she betrayed Iam to spark the God Feud and take over, how she sought only to drive men into entropy and chaos, just like the nature she lorded over, he never expected her to be so right.
“It’s okay,” Nesilia whispered. She reached out and cupped the sides of his face in her hands. Like Bliss, her skin was cold, but in his heart, it was warm. Comforting. Reminded him of home. “You have a chance to redeem yourself now. A chance to make things right. And if you do, I promise, you wil
l speak with your sister again. When Pantego is free, I won’t need the power her body possesses any longer.”
“She’ll be herself again?” he asked, barely able to raise his voice above a whisper.
“She’ll be the best version of herself you’ve ever known. Just as Pantego will be the best version of itself. Help us, Rand Langley, and neither of you will have to scrape by any longer. The strong will be as kings and queens in the new world, and you both are so very strong.”
“Help us?” Bliss asked, appearing over Nesilia’s shoulder. “What could we possibly need this pathetic sack of flesh for?”
“I have some ideas.” Nesilia released him, rose to her full height, and stepped back.
The vine withered away, releasing Rand’s limbs. An instant later, he felt hands all over, helping him to his feet. He hadn’t noticed how close the inhabitants of Panping had grown until just then. They were all around him, hundreds of them, gathering in the streets—maybe thousands—all their eyes black as midnight.
II
The Mystic
Warm gusts of wind gently caressed Sora’s face, uncharacteristic for the season. There was something special about the Glintish capital of Myen Elnoir. Something that not only warded away the harshness of the land surrounding it but also, seemingly, defended against Nesilia’s demonic army as well.
For days, they’d been seeing thick plumes of smoke pouring into the sky from the south—Panping. They swirled up and joined an ever-growing mass of lingering dark clouds. Rumors had spread quickly that a white-haired devil was terrorizing the region, but no one had called her by name. It didn’t matter, Sora knew it was Nesilia. She could almost feel her.
Along with Whitney, Tum Tum, and the Glintish woman called Lucindur, Sora had spent her last weeks on the Covenstan Depths, running from grimaurs as they soared above, often daring to swoop down upon the Reba. Aboard his ship, Sora had to continually remind herself that Gold Grin had been under the influence of Nesilia when they were together, just as she had been. That he’d done what any old man would have if a young lady threw herself at him. The memories still made her skin crawl.
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