Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  Aren stepped in, reached out, then drew back as if approaching a flame. His hands seemed to hang suspended between them as they contemplated each other, then he pressed his lips together and touched her. She didn’t stop him as he put a gentle hand on her face, tilting her head back, didn’t protest as he moved her fidgeting fingers away with his other hand. He brushed a thumb along her jaw and was surprised when she flinched. He frowned, studying her skin, the heavy application of powder.

  He traced a line from her ear to her neck with a finger. She gasped and her eyes fluttered, as if anticipating his lips, but his thoughts were elsewhere and he frowned at his discovery. He could make out the discoloration now. The bruises formed a chain around her neck, and as he let her go, she grabbed at his hand with both of hers and looked up into his eyes. “What have you gotten yourself into?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

  “It’s not what you think.” She smiled for a fraction of a second before her true emotions took over, and she stifled a sob.

  “There’s no excuse for this. Why would they do this to you?” There were marks on her arms as well.

  “It’s my own fault. Sometimes I have too much to drink. They say I get annoying, asking for you, talking about you all the time.” She choked on what sounded like a laugh. “You think I’m annoying.”

  Although he did find her irritating, he would never hurt her. He picked up the kerchief and handed it to her. She let go of him to dab at her eyes, sitting down on the chaise as she did so.

  “Your friend Mercer asked you to go to the House, didn’t he?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Why? What do they want from me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said at last.

  “Think!” he snapped. “Where are they from and how did you meet them?”

  “I met them at a party while you were away.”

  “Are they marked?” he asked. She didn’t look at him, and her unspoken answer hit him straight in the gut. “Did you ever meet up with a boy named Horin? Have they talked to anyone at the House?”

  “I’ve never heard of Horin,” she huffed, getting irritated again.

  “Did they ask you to go to the House? To ask for me?” he pressed.

  “What is this about?” She stood up to face him, fury coloring her features.

  “It was a mage that attacked the House yesterday.” His memories bubbled to the surface, and he could almost smell the sweat and blood, the wood and stone, the burn of magic. “I don’t know any mages, but I got a bad feeling from your friends, and from the looks of things, my instincts were right on target.”

  “Rieka’s marked,” she shot back. “And everyone knows Lady Tiede bears the marks.”

  “So you can’t help me,” he said, turning to leave.

  “That’s right, turn your back on me again,” she cried. “Run back to your books and hiding places!”

  A tingle ran over Aren’s skin. “A hiding place,” he breathed, his memories from that morning assaulting him. He bolted out of the store, back towards the House, Trista’s sobs hastening his departure.

  FIVE

  Selina wandered into the darkness as Aren lifted the oil lamp to illuminate the musty room. Shadows came to life, stretching across the floors and slithering down the walls. He indicated the sconces by the door, and Dane pulled out a tin of fire magic, his lips reciting the incantations as he lit the old wicks.

  “What are we doing here?” Nianni asked as Selina began to poke around the cold, forgotten room in the upper level of the House. A layer of dust covered the sheets draped over the furniture and books and mementos of a past long forgotten.

  “I’m just following Aren to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Dane said.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Nianni said, keeping near the door. “This is Lord Vir’s House and these rooms could be private.”

  Selina thought the room was more than private; it was abandoned, and it felt gauzy and haunted. This room was lost in time, looking nothing like any of the other rooms she had seen in the House. Vir favored heavy tapestries in rich tones, massive oil paintings against stone walls, floors of dark wood and plush rugs. In this room, streaks of black marred the floor, and the windows were boarded shut. What was left of the curtains was merely the raiment of ghosts, thin and tattered, edged in soot. Black streaks like angry claw marks scarred the walls, and wood, now decayed and crumbling, had been put up to cover the stone. The wood had once been painted over, and in some areas Selina noticed where wallpaper might have been hung, the paper now peeled and shredded, exposing dust-coated glue.

  “I don’t like it in here,” Nianni said, voicing Selina’s feelings.

  “Come on, Priestess,” Dane urged. “How often do you get to see what kind of junk the House Lords kept around?” Nianni remained by the door, twisting at the silver band on her upper arm.

  Selina returned to where Aren was moving boxes. “What are you looking for?”

  “The wall,” he said, ruffling her hair. “My memory is hazy, but I think there’s a secret in here.” He pulled a piece of paper from a pocket in his robe, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the box he had just moved. On the scrap of parchment was a rough sketch of the third level of the House. His finger traced a line around two adjoining rooms. “A very long time ago, this room was part of a nursery,” he explained. “I think in one of these rooms is a hiding place.”

  Selina stared at the drawing for a while, wondering why this was so important to him. His behavior was odd.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” he asked, folding up the piece of paper, breaking her trance.

  She looked up into his tired eyes and wondered when he had last slept. “Why did you go to the Wood?”

  He was quiet for a long time, and it seemed to magnify the sound of the flames dancing along their wicks, Nianni fidgeting with her silver bracelets, and Dane grunting as he rearranged the heavy boxes.

  “I know you’re upset about it,” he said at last. “It’s not an excuse, but I was in so much pain; I was desperate. I really am sorry that I made you worry so much.”

  “You should’ve taken me with you.”

  “I could hardly take care of myself. It’s best I didn’t take you, and I’m not going to apologize for that. If you had gotten hurt—”

  “But I’m supposed to take care of you!”

  He looked at her, a curious expression on his face. “It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around. I will never forgive myself for what happened in the Wood with you—for all that happened with the mage and the unicorn.”

  She looked down at her feet, at the perfect, white satin slippers that had replaced the old, worn boots she had been wearing just days ago, when they were running for their lives. Life had changed so quickly that she was caught unaware. She wondered if this was the goddess’s doing.

  “Why do you hear the voices?” he asked, his own voice hushed. “Have you always heard them?”

  Her brows furrowed as she considered his question. She didn’t know, but it didn’t seem strange to her. She just accepted it as another aspect of her life, as strange as ending up in Tiede and being found by the one person she felt she had been bound to since gaining consciousness.

  “I always hear the Wood,” she said. “But never like it is now, the way it calls your name. It used to have a whispering sound, peaceful like a sleeping kitten. Then, the other night on the rooftop, I heard your name carried on the wind.”

  Aren studied her for a minute, then stood up, returning to the task of moving crates and furniture away from the walls. “For as long as I can remember, it always called me with urgency, with a desperation that makes me ache inside.” He paused in his work, glanced down at her. She was surprised to find so much fear in his usually serene eyes. “That’s why I will never take you with me when it calls. So, please don’t ask again.”

  She turned away as he occupied himself with shifting a desk. She understood his desire to keep her safe, but he didn’t seem to und
erstand that her very existence was tied to his—that if she couldn’t watch over him and keep him alive, then her safety was of no value.

  “Aren!” Dane called out. He wore a tall, silly hat covered with long feathers, and was standing in the small path he had made, boxes and furniture on either side of him, looking down at the wall. “Were you looking for a tiny, secret door that leads to Aum?”

  Aren and Selina went to have a look, and even Nianni was curious enough to follow behind them, standing on her tiptoes to try to see over the piles of stuff. Aren squeezed in next to Dane as Selina crawled through their legs, making her way to the wall. The worn, decorative paper was peeling back and revealed an outline of a door smaller than Selina. There was no knob or handle, only space enough at the bottom for little fingers to fit and pry it open. Selina crouched by the door and put her fingers in the space.

  Aren lowered himself as much as he could into the cramped space, edging Dane back. He said to Selina, “You don’t have to do this. Let me move some boxes and I’ll be able to fit.”

  “Your fingers are too big. I can do it, I think I feel a latch.”

  “What are you expecting to find here?” Dane asked.

  Aren furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure.” He looked at Dane. “Was Lana ever scared of fire?”

  Dane frowned, pulled his neck back like a rooster. “Lana? Our sister? The Fire god incarnate?”

  “Blasphemy,” Nianni whispered, more to herself than anyone.

  “You’re right,” Aren laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My memories are still a mess.”

  “Open it?” Selina asked.

  Aren nodded.

  SIX

  Kaila paced the precipice overlooking the sea, just under the Keep’s looming shadows. She had been torn about returning home. She knew that returning would ease Alaric’s mind and not rouse his suspicions. On the other hand, staying in Tiede meant learning more about Aren and simply enjoying his company.

  Their last meeting at the baths had been dangerous. When his body had slumped to the ground as if dead, she had cradled, covered, and protected him. She had watched as his spirit seemed to shut down to protect itself. But protect itself from what? She wondered if it had anything to do with his experiences in Tiede Wood. What was his connection to that place?

  Her mind, her logic, had screamed at her to leave him. He would get up on his own, and he would think it was all a dream. Yet, her spirit was compelled to reach out, to heal him. Something in her needed to protect him. While he was unconscious, she had resumed her powers and taken some of his pain away, enough to ease his suffering. It was such an infinitesimal amount of energy, easily masked in the salt baths, in her element so the gods would never know. Her willful disobedience of the Realm’s Laws of Divide was punishable by exile to Aum, but when Aren had awoken and stared up at her with his beautiful, deep emerald eyes, she felt it had been worth it.

  She would have done it again in a heartbeat.

  “What is wrong with me?” She stopped pacing and shook her head.

  “Quit talking to yourself and do something useful.” Taia’s voice was cold and Kaila spun around, surprised by her sudden appearance.

  “I would if Alaric would let me,” Kaila retorted.

  Taia considered her, flickering once before her form stabilized. “He wants to see you in his study. Maybe he’ll ask you to sit in a lagoon.”

  Kaila ignored the comment and took in Taia’s blood-burgundy riding outfit, flowing wool cloak, high-cut leather boots. “Where are you going?”

  “Dusk, on a task for Alaric. Try not to seduce him while I’m gone.”

  Taia turned towards the path leading away from the Night Realm, singing a spell. The darkness gathered, rushing towards Taia until it materialized into a wild, black stallion with stars for eyes beneath her. Then, the spell weaver was gone.

  Kaila took the long route along the cliff and over the waterfall. She swam into the underground caverns, dressed in layers of long silk robes in aqua and blue and green that trailed behind her. She wrapped a wide sash in golden orange around her waist, and pulled her hair up in a messy sweep of curls, the fallen locks framing her face.

  Alaric’s study was empty when she arrived, and she wondered what he wanted to see her about. He might ask what she had been up to. Flirting with a mortal in Tiede.

  By Mahl’s holy name, she had to stop thinking of Aren.

  She walked to Alaric’s desk and examined the odds and ends lying around: trinkets, scrolls, jewels. He liked to have objects to connect to, things that held meaning and memory scattered about like stars in his skies. She ran her fingers through the stardust littering Alaric’s desk, her wavy lines like drawings in sand. Then, she picked up a small vial and held it up to the moonlight to reveal the clear liquid. Perhaps it was a potion stolen from Rafi, a secret ingredient expelled from some flower, or the separated blood of an angel or demon. She was about to set it down when Alaric entered. He took the vial, holding it between his thumb and middle finger, examining it as she had.

  “Your tears,” he said, answering her unvoiced question. “When you were dying from the fisherman’s spear, and I took you home. You said you were so happy that at the end of it all, mine was the last face you’d see. You were crying and it broke my heart. I closed your eyes and put you to sleep so that we could heal you.” He smiled. “You look beautiful this evening.”

  She blushed, hugging herself as she turned and took a few steps away from him. “You’d keep a memento of that incident? When I was feeling better, you spent the next several weeks castigating me. We argued and screamed and said horrible things to each other,” she reminded him.

  “I didn’t turn demon.”

  “I was surprised,” she admitted.

  He leaned against his desk, sifting a handful of stardust through his fingers. “We can go through the worst trials yet still love each other at the end of it all.” She gave him a nod and he continued. “The lines are changing faster, the patterns more intricate, the lattices unraveling then rebuilding in fractal compositions we’ve never seen before. These will be the worst trials yet.”

  “The end times.” She heard the words before she realized she had said them. The words were like a curse, a clock on the verge of stopping.

  Alaric shook the stardust off his hands and made his way to the fireplace. He picked up a lick of flame sitting on a silver dish on the mantel, then walked towards her. “I received a message from Tanghi earlier.” He suspended the flame between them, then passed his fingers through it, causing the fire to swirl, expand, then reveal a window with Tanghi standing at the center of it. He was covered in sweat and grime, the black powder of magic, and blood.

  “Geir found a tunnel but it was no good. We’re also having some trouble with the House lord, but Sabana says she’ll take care of it.” Tanghi let out a heavy sigh as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “The mage threat is no threat and their number is great. We weren’t paying enough attention. The planetary god’s been biding his time, but with one land mass left, he has little to lose.” Kaila wanted to join her brother, to fight, to do something more than just stand here, waiting for Alaric to let her out of her cage. Tanghi’s eyes glowed gold as he stared at them from the ruins of the House of Trum. “We need to look at the rules again, find a loophole that allows us to use our powers around mortals. Maybe Taia can find a key or a spell; maybe there’s something about her lost staff. If we don’t figure it out soon, there will be no god-life left.” He paused and they could hear Sabana calling for him. “They’re waiting on me. Tell Kaila that I need to talk to her, that I spoke to Geir.”

  Kaila stared into the space Tanghi had been in, as the window turned to black, and the flame returned to Alaric’s hand. He walked back to the mantel to return the fire to its silver platter. The sound of his boots released her from her trance, and she moved towards the window overlooking the sea, hoping the air would help her think more clearly. Tanghi spoke to Geir. Her heart
began to thrum in her ears as her nerves tangled.

  “There are things going on under my roof that I’m only marginally aware of,” Alaric said, returning to his desk and leaning against it. “I’m trying to keep an entire Realm from collapsing, so it’s hard to pay attention to the details sometimes.” His tone was mocking, fed up. “I know that you and Taia had a very bad fight.” She opened her mouth to explain, but he held up a hand to silence her. “More foreign to me is whatever is going on between you and Geir. Why would Tanghi be so concerned?”

  “I’d been talking to Geir,” she said, fingering the thin scales on her sash. She had to play this right. She had to give Alaric the news about Selina before Tanghi did. “I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and I talked to him about things that Tanghi probably feels I should’ve shared with him first.”

  “Tanghi would be in the right,” said Alaric. “Especially if these things you spoke of could betray a weakness in my Realm.”

  “Geir would never do anything to hurt us,” she said, clenching her sash.

  “He was,” Alaric stopped her, “is, one of the most powerful spirits ever known to exist, even before he was pulled out of the Plane of Distant Echoes and given his god form.” He picked up a handful of stardust, tossed it into the air in front of him, and countless spiritual planes appeared, bright and glittering against the backdrop of Night. “You were once spirit before I summoned you,” he said, locating the swirling Plane of In-Between with a finger, bringing it into view, cradling it like an egg. “Tell me, were you and yours anywhere near as ruthless as the spirits of Echoes, never mind the legendary Geir?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Why do you think Aalae chose him?”

  “Those same legends tell of Geir’s honor and empathy, his sense of justice.”