Knot frowned. “She was here when we came through the traveling cloud. That was only moments ago…”
The twist in his gut compounded, wrapping in on itself over and over again, churning in the pain that came with realization and terror. He looked toward the cliffs, dreading what he might see.
Cinzia followed his gaze.
“That… cannot be her,” she said softly.
A green streak of light moved across the fields, and leapt high into the night and onto the Outsiders racing down the cliffside.
“What in Oblivion is that girl doing?” Knot growled, but he’d known, deep down, the moment Cinzia had asked where she was.
She had gone toward the bloody trouble.
The green light bounced up the cliffs like a tiny firefly. A few Outsiders fell in its wake, and despite his horror, despite the worry in his gut, a flash of pride burst in his chest.
But then something happened. The green firefly fell from its height halfway up the cliff, plummeting toward the base of the rock.
Knot rushed forward, but Eward was suddenly there, holding him back.
Knot whirled on the lad. He knew Eward’s intentions were good, but he didn’t care. He punched Eward full on in the face, and the lad swung around, almost losing his balance. But he came at Knot again, gripping his arm tightly.
“You can’t do anything about that, Knot!” Eward shouted. “We need you here. We need you with the Prelates. You can do the most good with us, not out there with her. Astrid can handle herself. We’ve seen her do it, time and time again.”
Eward looked to Cinzia for help, but Cinzia said nothing. Her mouth was open, but she remained silent and staring at the spot where Astrid had fallen.
Knot turned back. He could not see the green light anymore. Had he missed it when she struck the ground?
He was about to shove Eward off him again, Prelates be damned, Odenites be damned, everything and all Oblivion be damned, when a bright flash of light lit up the night sky, momentarily blinding him.
* * *
Astrid fell, and dreamt, drifting down with snowflakes, Outsiders raging and racing downward but unable to touch the stillness that surrounded her as she fell.
She dreamt she was on a ship. The dark sky, full of twinkling stars behind her, slowly converged with the pink rosy light of dawn. The sun’s bright rays kissed her face, the warmth pleasant and welcome and something for which she had yearned her entire life. Astrid smiled in response, without fear and without question. This was right. This was what should happen.
Astrid looked over her shoulder, and noticed something on the ship she had never seen before.
It was just Knot, at first, but then Cinzia was there, too. They both stood close behind, standing next to one another, smiling at Astrid. Knot and Cinzia were there, but then so was Jane. And then Trave was there, too, but Astrid felt no animosity toward him, no anger, only a steady warmth, as if the sun that shone on her face filled her to the brim and overflowed toward him, too. And next to Trave, the Homemother, and again Astrid felt that same overflow of warmth. Some of these people had betrayed her, had hurt her, but they were all still her family. And then next to them…
Astrid’s father. Her papa, smiling at her, and the same warmth she felt from the rising sun also emanated from him, and in Papa’s arms, a little boy, and a baby girl, that same incredible warmth all around them.
She had never felt more loved, or more capable of it.
Family is not about what we remember, or where we are. It’s about how we feel, Cinzia had once said to her.
And here, on this ship, with these people behind her, Astrid knew she was with family.
* * *
A bright light burst into the night sky, temporarily blinding Cinzia, all colors at once and yet no color at the same time.
As her vision slowly returned, she scanned the field for Astrid’s faint green light, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Knot struggled against Eward and the Prelates holding him back, but it was Cinzia’s hand on him, her fingers closing tightly around his, that finally calmed him.
There was no green light, but there was something else. A great burning rainbow of color, in the shape of a sword as tall as a man. Illuminated by that fire, a small girl stood, her shadow flickering, her hair blowing in the winter breeze, snowflakes falling around her. The army of Outsiders still rumbled down the cliffs, all of them switching direction like a flock of birds, aiming their charge directly at the girl with the flaming sword. The monsters towered over the girl as they charged, but she stood her ground. The five gargantuan Outsiders rumbled to the base of the cliffs, all swinging their unfathomably large maws toward Astrid.
Knot returned Cinzia’s grip tightly, and the two watched as their friend—their little girl—danced.
* * *
Astrid struck the ground, disoriented, but immediately rose to her feet, whatever pain accompanied her fall and the impact completely forgotten, overtaken by the memory of the ship, of the sun, and of her family.
When she looked down at her claws, she realized Radiance burned in one hand, the giant, flaming blade reaching high above her.
If you’ve kept it, after all these years, you’ve managed something incredible. Never let it go.
She heard their voices in her mind, mixed with her own. She heard their voices, and they were with her, even though they were not.
Family is not about what we remember, or where we are. It’s about how we feel.
She felt them burning inside of her, felt their love and their hope and their fears and their forgiveness.
I love you. It doesn’t matter what you are. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been…
“All that matters,” Astrid whispered, “is what we do.”
Just like her dream, Astrid knew the sun was about to rise. Both what was at stake and what she faced were as clear to her as a bright, clean brook.
Astrid swung Radiance, slicing into the first Outsider that reached her, and the b east immediately burst into an explosion of color and fire.
She dashed to the side, striking the next, and the next. Astrid bounced from Outsider to Outsider, demolishing each one with great, broad swings of Radiance. One, five, fifteen, thirty. Monster after monster fell to her blade in showers of burning color. Outsiders roared all around her, enough of them on the ground now that they could surround her completely, but she did not care. She was fast—nothing on the Sfaera had ever been so fast as she was now; she darted between them, around them, dashing everywhere at once, and they could not touch her. She was strong; she swung her great flaming sword, cutting through her enemies one by one. The roars pierced through her, but they were nothing compared to what she felt, compared to what she was, and compared to what she could do.
* * *
After the blinding flash of light, Carrieri focused on the tiny figure, holding an impossibly large flaming sword as it met the oncoming Outsider horde.
When she had begun to fight, slaying Outsider after Outsider with each stroke, swift and sure, a tiny seed of hope sprouted from somewhere deep within Carrieri. He had once seen an Alizian master calligrapher display his art, creating a document in moments with sharp, confident, brisk strokes of the arm-sized brush he wielded. This tiny illuminated being wielded her flaming sword the way the Alizian master calligrapher had wielded his black paintbrush. Each stroke had a purpose, the flaming edge creating arcs of colorful fire in its wake, leaving afterimages in patterns that Carrieri could not have imagined in his wildest, most creative dreams.
“What is that?” Ryven whispered beside him.
“That,” Carrieri said, the spread of hope slowly blossoming, “is a Goddess-damned miracle, son.”
* * *
Cova had descended to her cabin to think about what had happened, wanting to be alone. When someone came knocking on her door, insisting she come to the deck, she had almost lost it and sentenced the man to death right there. Fortunately, after a few deep breaths, she had g
otten a hold of herself, and reluctantly walked out onto the deck, fully prepared to throw the man overboard if it was not something worth seeing.
It was, as it turned out, absolutely something worth seeing.
From their distance, far out into the bay, it was difficult to discern much. But what Cova did see was a blinding bar of light swinging in arcs, circles, spirals, and jagged lines, leaving burning afterimages in the dark behind it, causing every Outsider it connected with to burst into a fan of chromatic color and sparks. One of the massive, dragon-like beasts approached the zipping luminescence, but the light skidded back, then burst forward, gaining speed, running directly toward the underbelly of the beast. The Sfaera went dark once more as the light disappeared within the monster, but immediately illuminated again as it burst out of the monster’s back, flying high into the air. The gargantuan Outsider started to collapse, but burst into an immense cloud of fire and color before it hit the ground.
Cova had gone into her cabin to think about their next move, and to deal with the crippling shame she felt at taking her forces away from Triah, leaving the city at the mercy of the Outsiders.
And here was someone, or something, doing what she could not.
Saving them all.
Cova wept openly at whatever it was that moved behind that bar of burning light, dispatching monster after monster. She wept until the tears streaming down her cheeks soaked the thick scarf at her neck, until her eyes were sore and dry, and her hands trembled from hope, worry, and gratitude all at once, until the snow finally stopped falling and the clouds in the sky began to part, revealing the first rays of a sharp winter dawn.
* * *
Astrid dreamt she was on a ship, and she dreamt she fought daemons, daemons that even daemons feared. She dreamt of swelling sails, and an ocean so still it could have been glass. She dreamt a delicate dance of death as she flickered from one Outsider to another, Radiance bursting every one of them into flame and fire and sparks and shadow. She dreamt of the sun rising in the east, the pink, purple, and orange hues rising slowly above the waveless sea. She dreamt of the sun rising in the east, the rosy peach rays breaking through the dissipating clouds of an extinguished winter storm, reaching across snow-covered fields, the Sinefin River, the Cliffs of Litori, and finally across the Outsiders, the fields, and Astrid herself as they reached for the great city of Triah and the ocean after, and everything else that lay beyond.
* * *
The sun is rising, Knot thought, unable to voice it, unable to speak at all, unable to move. He gripped Cinzia’s hand more tightly as they stood together, watching the incredible display of fire, color, combat, and destruction.
“Canta has sent an angel.”
Knot would not have been able to tear his eyes away from Astrid if he had not immediately recognized the voice as Jane’s. Conscious now, and standing next to him. Winter was there, too, her face illuminated by both Astrid’s light and the sunrise, watching wide-eyed as Astrid fought for them all.
“Can’t you do something?” Knot pleaded, looking to Jane.
“All is happening that must happen,” Jane said. “This is Canta’s will.”
Knot almost lost it then. He struggled again to break for the cliffs, but the Prelates held him back again.
The sun is rising. The sun is rising, Astrid.
Dawn’s rays reached out, out and out and out, farther and farther from the east, until they swept over Knot and Cinzia and everyone else silently, onward toward the cliffs and toward Triah and toward Astrid, and the moment the light struck her, she transformed. In another burst of light, the girl ignited into a column of pure white flame.
“No!” Cinzia screamed beside him, and her grip on his hand broke as she fell to her knees.
Knot’s throat was raw, his voice heavy, and all he could think was the sun is rising, the sun is rising, over and over and over again. Knot could no longer see Astrid, and he could no longer see her sword, but the great column of light and color still moved, leaping and striding from Outsider to Outsider, eliminating them, large and small alike, until they were all gone, and nothing remained on the field but snow, sunlight, and a single, tiny form.
* * *
Astrid dreamt the sun rose, and she did not burn. She dreamt of becoming one with the light. She dreamt of those she loved, and of those who loved her. She dreamt of her ship taking a turn, and in that moment, Astrid knew where she was going, and the word rang in her mind and in her heart like the tolling of a great bell.
She was going home.
47
THEY FOUND HER BODY amidst the freshly fallen snow.
Winter accompanied them, though she felt a stranger. Knot, Cinzia, Jane, Eward, and some of Jane’s other disciples all walked together, while Winter remained a few paces behind, Astrid’s words in their final conversation echoing in her mind.
There are a lot of people who have lost fathers, mothers, husbands, friends. A lot of people who’ve been addicted, or felt trapped. A lot of people who felt helpless. None of this is new. This is life. It’s what living is.
Knot knelt beside the girl’s body. Winter knew from the hope she’d felt as they had walked toward the girl—the hope that she might still be alive, that the miracle of light and fire had somehow preserved her—that Knot and Cinzia must feel it, too, far stronger than she did, and that the sharp pain of disappointment at the lifeless corpse they found must be infinitely stronger for them, too.
Cinzia fell to her knees at Knot’s side, but neither of them moved, neither of them touched the body. Everyone behind them sensed the importance of the silence and the stillness, and did not move at all.
Later, Knot bent down, wrapping his arms around the girl, and lifted her. She dangled loosely from his embrace, and with Cinzia’s help he adjusted his hold on her, so he carried her across his arms and body.
“She looks like she was just a girl,” someone remarked, someone Winter did not know. No one responded.
He was right, whoever it was that had said it. Astrid had no trace of vampirism on her: no fangs, no claws, no glowing eyes. It was daylight, of course, but Winter suddenly could not imagine what the girl looked like with those things. Even at night, the image seemed strange, something that had only happened in a nightmare, or in a dream. The girl Knot carried was just a girl, nothing more.
And that was all anyone said. They walked back to the Odenite camp together in silence, with only the sound of boots crunching on snow and the occasional gust of wind to accompany them. Even Triah itself loomed oddly silent in the distance, without bells or shouts or anything of the sort.
Knot and Cinzia walked ahead with the body. The disciples, Jane, and her family followed.
And Winter was left alone, standing in the middle of the Odenite camp.
Were the rest of the tiellan Rangers all right? Had they stayed away as she had ordered? She had noticed some commotion at the edge of the battlefield, and thought she saw some of Roden’s banners, but could not be sure. She had been too absorbed in her struggle with the Nine Daemons.
A growing sense of unease seeped through her, like ink slowly soaking through paper. What the Daemons had said to her, what Azael had said to her, still bothered her. How they had acted around her still bothered her. It had almost felt as if she were not truly facing Daemons at all, but people. Had she made the wrong choice? Perhaps she should not have summoned them at all. Perhaps she should have left it alone, and Cinzia and Jane would have solved the problem with whatever plan they were concocting.
If she had left it alone, Winter knew, if she had not done anything for the Daemons, Astrid would still be alive.
The hate she felt for herself because of that understanding was beyond description, beyond bounds. She was responsible for Astrid’s death. She was responsible for the terrible grief Knot and Cinzia must be feeling, that anyone who had been close to the girl now felt. And, more than that, she was responsible for the fact that Astrid would never again make another sarcastic comment, fight
another battle, help someone in the way she had helped Winter not twelve hours earlier.
In that moment, Winter wanted change. She no longer wanted to be the person she was. She no longer could be the person she had been.
She did not know what she could possibly become, but she knew the only option left was to try.
48
CINZIA SAT IN HER tent, unable to move. The events of the last day were hazy and blurred together. She had left Knot alone to grieve in his tent. She wanted to give him that space.
And here she was in hers.
A knock sounded at her doorpost. She might be asleep, she reasoned. This knock might be waking her from a terrible nightmare, and she would rise up and it would be Astrid waiting for her, a grin on her face, ready to—
“Yes?” Cinzia asked, sitting up. You’re not dreaming, she had to remind herself, despite her exhaustion.
“I am so sorry… someone is waiting to see you, Disciple Cinzia,” the Prelate outside her tent said.
Someone to see her. The thought of seeing someone else, of even having a conversation, multiplied the weariness in her bones many times over. She was about to open her mouth and ask that whoever it was return another time, when she saw the pouch on the table, partially open, a red multifaceted gem partially exposed. The gem reminded her of the dagger, and the dagger the Daemons, and the Daemons the Outsiders, and the Outsiders the vampire, the little girl, the—
Cinzia stood, a burning energy filling her limbs. Whoever it was at her door, whoever actually thought seeing her at this time, at this hour, at this moment in her life was remotely a good idea, would pay to Oblivion and back.
“Show them in,” she said evenly.
The person who walked into her tent at that moment was the last person Cinzia would have ever expected, but it did nothing to alleviate the rage that boiled inside of her.
“Nayome,” Cinzia said. “What in Oblivion are you doing here?”
Chaos Queen--Fear the Stars (Chaos Queen 4) Page 44
