Circle of Shadows

by Evelyn Skye

“Do you remember the myth you used to tell me when I was little?” Hana pointed at a rabbit constellation.

  “The one about the god of night’s children?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was your favorite.”

  Hana continued looking at the stars. Next to the rabbit, there was a giraffe, and at the top of the giraffe’s head sat a monkey. There was a whole menagerie of animals. “Do you think . . .” she hesitated. Then she fiddled with her hair and said, “Do you think you could tell the story to me now?”

  The smile that spread across Sora’s face was so bright, it outshone the moon. “I’d love to.”

  They found a patch of moss, as thick and soft as a blanket, and lay beside each other. As their breaths slowed and their chests rose and fell in sync, Sora called to the ryuu particles around them, asking them to illustrate the story she was about to tell. They swirled around her eagerly, then floated above Hana’s head, mimicking the nightscape of stars.

  Sora started the fable as their mother had written it, still pristine in her memory as if she had recited it to her little sister only yesterday.

  Millions of miles in the sky, the gods look upon us from the heavens. To mortals, Celestae is perfect, a paradise no soul would ever want to leave.

  But gods, like humans, sometimes grow tired of what they already have. The god of night, in particular, loved descending from the sky. He was very handsome. His face was composed of sharp angles, like the lines of constellations. His eyes smoldered like nebulas, mysterious and multicolored. And light followed wherever he went, like a comet trailing its king. One look from him sent mortal women tumbling head over heels, irretrievably in love.

  Over the millennia, he fathered many children. But being a god, he was not accustomed to sharing. Instead, he took all his offspring from his mortal lovers so that his children could live with him in Celestae.

  One day, a woman named Tomi refused the god of the night his child. She held their son close to her breast and would not relinquish him to live in the sky.

  “Why do you do this?” the god of night had asked. “Our son is a demigod. He belongs in Celestae, where he can drink of sweet nectar and frolic in fields made of dreams. He will live a good life. He will live forever. This is the way it has always been for my children.”

  Tears ran down Tomi’s face as she stroked her baby’s fat cheek. “I love you, my lord. But I love my baby even more. Half of him comes from you, but the other half comes from me. If you take him and I never see him again, I shall die.”

  The god of the night frowned. He had never thought of it from his lovers’ point of view. Yet their boy belonged in Celestae, with others like him. He would be unhappy, relegated to earth.

  “My beautiful Tomi,” the god said, kissing away the stream of her tears. Each touch of his lips left glimmers of starlight on her skin. “Tell me. What is your favorite animal?”

  She looked up at the god, confused, her eyes rimmed in red. “A lion. But I don’t understand.”

  “I must take our son with me. You know this to be true. But you will see him again.” The god of night held out his arms for the baby.

  Tomi hugged their son tightly. “How? When?”

  “Every night. You need only look up to Celestae, and you will see him, a lion in the sky.”

  “What if he does not like Celestae?”

  “He will,” the god of night promised. “But if he ever wishes to leave, I will not stop him. That, I can promise you.”

  With that, the god gently took their boy from his mother. As they faded away, returning to the realm of the divine, Tomi felt a heavy sadness in her heart. And yet she did not cry.

  When the sun set that evening, she did as she was told. She walked out into the chilly air and looked up toward Celestae.

  Where there had been nothing before, now there was a constellation, a lion, bright against the night. The stars glimmered, as if her son were winking at her, and a small smile graced Tomi’s face.

  And from then on, all of the god of night’s children appeared in the night sky, a parade of constellations bidding “good eve” to their mothers and assuring the mortal world that all was well in the universe.

  At the end of the story, Sora’s ryuu particles faded away, like a constellation at dawn.

  Hana clapped softly. “It’s just like I remember it. After we’d left Kichona, I used to tell the story to myself when I couldn’t sleep, but I never got it right. It’s because the fable was missing you.”

  Sora’s eyes prickled with tears, thinking of little Hana, shivering and scared after the Blood Rift, clinging to the one story that had been theirs.

  “I’m here now,” Sora said.

  Hana nodded. “I know.”

  Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed Hana on the tip of her nose like she used to do when they were little.

  Hana drew away, face contorted in horror. She quickly looked around, as if worried someone had seen.

  “I’m sorry,” Sora said. “I’m not sure what came over me. I just . . . I’m happy to have you back in my life.”

  Hana still looked horrified. But then her expression mellowed into a conflicted mixture of pleasure and disdain, as if her two halves—the little sister half and Virtuoso half—couldn’t decide who was in charge. “I’m . . . happy to have you back too,” she said. “But don’t kiss me like that again. At least, um, when others can see.”

  “Okay, stinkbug.”

  Hana laughed despite herself. “Stinkbug. I haven’t heard that nickname in a very long time.”

  They lay quietly in the moss for a little while. But the ryuu were going to march to the Imperial City at sunrise, and Sora had to leave tonight to beat them back to the Citadel. If she was going to take Hana with her, she’d have to test the waters now.

  The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Sora shivered. But it was time. “That story made me think about the gods,” she said slowly. “They’re all-powerful. They can make women fall in love with them, give up their children. What’s to stop them from making humans their playthings?”

  Hana frowned. “You mean, they’d toy with us like dolls?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s a horrible thought.”

  “Why?” Sora asked.

  “Because what if I didn’t want to do what the god wanted? If we were toys, he could make us do anything. Kiss someone you find revolting. Smack yourself in the face. Jump off a cliff.”

  “You’re right,” Sora said.

  “I’d fight back if they did that,” Hana said.

  “And if you couldn’t? What if you couldn’t fight back against the gods?”

  “Then . . .” Hana thought about it. “Then I’d rather not live. What would be the point of having a life, if I didn’t have free will? At least a doll doesn’t actually have a mind of its own.”

  Sora let it sink in for a moment.

  Hana turned to her, the moss pressed like a pillow against her face. “Is something wrong?”

  Sora sighed. “What’s wrong is Prince Gin and what he’s doing.”

  Her sister sat up suddenly. “What are you talking about?”

  This was it. Sora was about to reveal that she’d broken free of the Dragon Prince’s spell. Instinctively, she sat up too and began to reach for her weapons, anticipating a fight.

  But then she looked at Hana. The sweet little tenderfoot had been there only minutes ago, asking for their bedtime story. She wasn’t a ryuu, not entirely. And she had accepted Sora back into her life. Hana was capable of seeing the world in more than black and white. Sora had to do this—for Hana, for herself, and for her parents, who, if they knew their baby was still alive, would do everything in their power to shake her from her misguided faith in the Dragon Prince.

  Sora moved her hand away from her knife. “I know Prince Gin is using ryuu magic to take over people’s minds. I’m not sure how I broke free from the hypnosis, and I understand that you may want to bring me to him for the e
xecution I was originally sentenced to, but if I’m to die . . . please give me a minute to explain. It’s all I ask.”

  Hana’s shock painted itself in circles across her face—round eyes, open mouth.

  The freckles across her nose jerked as she wrinkled it and pulled herself together. She rose to one knee and drew her sword, the short one she wore at her hip. “You’d better talk quickly.”

  Sora swallowed and nodded. “Prince Gin is playing god. He’s stealing people’s free will and making them his toys. He wants to start wars, using not only us, but also ordinary Kichonans, as his soldiers. And for what? To pursue the legend of Zomuri and his immortal paradise? Stories are fun to tell, but they’re just that. Stories.”

  “No,” Hana said, shaking her head like she was trying to wake from a bad dream. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hana, lives are at stake, for a mythological reward that either doesn’t exist or is impossible to attain. I know Prince Gin raised you, and you helped to build this army, but it’s not too late to change your mind, to leave the sky like some constellations do.”

  That was how ancient Kichonans had explained stars that inexplicably disappeared. They were the god of night’s children, making the choice to leave their father to return to their mothers on earth.

  Her sister pointed her sword at Sora’s chest. “No. Prince Gin wants what’s best for Kichona.” A sob caught in her throat. “That’s what he told us. That’s what he told me.”

  Her blade wavered. Sora inched closer and slowly reached over to Hana’s hand. Her fingers closed over Hana’s.

  “I’m going back to the Citadel,” Sora said gently. “Come with me. We’ll defend our right to possess our own minds, and the peaceful way of life that Kichonans have had for centuries.”

  “But Prince Gin promised us more,” Hana said, dropping her arm by her side.

  Sora could see the wanting in her sister’s eyes. Hana had grown up in an impoverished camp for exiles, in the rough mountains of Shinowana. To her, life was an injustice that needed to be corrected. And what the Dragon Prince promised must really seem like heaven on earth.

  “Hana, you’re home,” Sora said. “This is a blessed kingdom, with plentiful harvests, joyful traditions, and friends and family. It may not be Zomuri’s Evermore, but it’s real. Come with me.”

  Her sister looked at the outline of the Citadel and Rose Palace on the hilly horizon beyond that.

  “Sora . . . I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Her heart soared like a nightingale taking flight.

  Hana raised her sword again.

  Sora tumbled backward on the moss. She scrambled for her own blade, but Hana had her sword point at Sora’s throat.

  “I love you,” Hana began again, focused intensely on Sora’s eyes, “and that’s why, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I won’t come with you, because my place is here. And if you go . . . it will be the end of us. For good this time.”

  Sora’s nightingale heart plummeted from its height, wings broken.

  “But—”

  “My decision is made,” Hana said. “Now it’s up to you.” She held Sora’s gaze.

  It was an impossible choice.

  At the same time, there was no choice. Sora couldn’t stay with the ryuu and fight for Prince Gin. She had to put the kingdom first. She had to defend the possession of their own wills, their lives.

  Even if it meant losing Hana. Again.

  Sora’s lungs constricted. Her breaths came in short, tight gasps. Then she couldn’t breathe at all.

  But Hana seemed to understand what the conclusion was. She nodded sadly at Sora, sheathed her sword, and walked away.

  And Sora cried.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The tenderfoots were evacuated from the Citadel the same evening, and the Council called a meeting of all the remaining taigas. There were more than usual, for many taigas had been summoned from their posts around Kichona to the Imperial City.

  The sound of wine-barrel drums filled the amphitheater as taigas filed in, finding places to sit on the arced benches carved into the grassy knoll. The commander and the rest of the councilmembers stood in the center of the black stage. Daemon and Broomstick settled into the back row with the rest of the Level 12s.

  When everyone had sat down, Glass Lady stepped forward and said, “Thank you all for coming. As you know, the Dragon Prince is approaching with his army. They wield formidable magic different from ours and intend to finish what they started with the Blood Rift ten years ago. Not only that, but the Dragon Prince is also actively recruiting taigas to his side, using a powerful form of hypnosis. We must be prepared to use everything we have to fight them.”

  A taiga warrior in the front row rose and bowed to indicate that he had a question.

  Glass Lady nodded at him.

  “Commander, can you tell us more about their magic?” he shouted so the entire amphitheater could hear.

  “I think the one best suited to answer your question would be a taiga who has actually witnessed what the ryuu can do.” She found Daemon in the audience. “Wolf or Broomstick, would you brief everyone?”

  This was so unexpected, Daemon’s nerves hardly had time to twitch. But Broomstick was actually twitching, so Daemon would have to be the one to address the audience. He stood from the bench and hurried to the stage, taking the steps in a single bound. He bowed deeply to each councilmember before turning to the crowd.

  Stars, there are a lot of people, he thought, his nerves finally catching up. He clasped his hands together behind his back to still the jittering, hoping the gesture came across as confident military poise rather than what it really was—an apprentice not used to being the center of attention. That was usually Sora’s job.

  This is for her as much as it is for Kichona. Daemon took a deep breath, enough to calm himself so he could speak, and began.

  His voice carried through the cold night air. He told the taigas about the green particles of magic and how the ryuu could control them without mudras or chanted spells. He told them about the initiation ceremony, with Prince Gin giving new recruits Sight and the ryuu shoving them off the roof. He told them about the fearsome powers that the ryuu displayed, each one with a different talent far beyond what taigas could do.

  When Daemon finished, the amphitheater remained completely silent. But it was not the serene type of quiet associated with the middle of the night. It was the silence of warriors who had never met an enemy they couldn’t vanquish, not in the thousand-year history of the kingdom, suddenly faced with a foe more powerful than they could comprehend. Daemon quivered in the echo of his words too. He didn’t know where Sora and Fairy were and how to get them back. He didn’t know how the taigas could fight the ryuu. He didn’t want to think what would happen if Prince Gin prevailed.

  Someone walked up beside Daemon.

  “Thank you, Wolf,” Empress Aki said. “That was very informative.”

  The silence of the audience broke as they registered the empress’s surprise appearance. They fell like dominoes to bow before her. Daemon too dropped to his knees and laid himself before her. “Your Majesty,” he said.

  She waited a minute for the taigas to finish paying their respects. When all had risen again, she smiled kindly at Daemon. “You may return to your seat,” she said quietly.

  He gave another quick, shallower bow and left the stage.

  “Thanks for getting me off the hook,” Broomstick whispered when Daemon slid back onto the bench beside him. “I can’t say you didn’t scare everyone shitless, but you did well.”

  “Everyone should be scared,” Daemon said.

  Broomstick merely nodded.

  In front of them, Empress Aki stood regally in a black silk gown, embroidered with tiny gold suns that matched her hair.

  “My noble taigas,” she said, walking along the edge of the stage and looking purposefully at every section of the amphitheater. “Kichona is a respected kin
gdom. We are proud of the people and things we produce here—from rose apples to tiger pearls, daily catches of fish to famed pagoda temples for the gods. We treat our trade partners with respect, and in turn, they reciprocate, and we are known as fair, upstanding citizens of the world.

  “It is my honor to rule over this illustrious kingdom. And it is Kichona’s blessing to have the Society of Taigas at its defense. For centuries, your legacy has been the basis of legends, stories carried from our shores and spread across the globe.

  “Now, we are about to engage in battle against an army that seems on the outside more impressive than our own. They will dazzle and frighten with their magic. They will maim and bloody and not hesitate to kill. They will attempt to initiate the quest for the Evermore with the Ceremony of Two Hundred Hearts.”

  Empress Aki paused at the center of the stage, letting the gravity of what she was saying sink in. Taigas slaughtered. Two hundred men, women, and children with their hearts cut out of their chests. The commencement of an unprecedented era of bloodshed and war.

  Daemon held his breath, as did, it seemed, all the other apprentices and warriors around him.

  “But do not forget this,” the empress said, again turning to look at each section of the crowd, so that every single taiga felt the golden warmth of her attention. “You are part of something greater than just this army assembled here, in the amphitheater, at this present time. You are part of a vast, proud history, a thousand years of taigas who have fought daunting foes and prevailed. You are part of not only the Society but the kingdom itself.

  “You are Kichona.”

  The Council fanned out behind her, arms crossed over their chests, backs straight, black scabbards gleaming under the moonlight. It was an impressive picture, and Daemon’s chest swelled with pride.

  We may be about to face the ryuu, but the taigas are not something to trifle with either.

  Then Empress Aki did something no one had ever seen before, in the long history of the kingdom: she dropped to her knees and bowed, stretching her body along the floor, lying prostrate before the taigas.

  “Your Honors,” she said, paying her respects.