I let out a bark of laughter, thankful for Isadora’s bluntness.
Then sober.
“Were you looking for me?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, straightening. The Pyrkagia agent at once in attendance. Isadora had been one of the best. I might not like her at times, but I respect her absolutely.
“What is it?”
“Grumblings.”
“Mikkos and Leon,” I guess.
She nods her head. “I think it might be wise to nip this in the bud,” she recommends.
“They are Councillors,” I remind her. “How do you suggest we nip them in the bud?”
She grins up at me. “A show of power.”
So predictable. But sometimes the most obvious solutions are the best.
“I cannot challenge them outright,” I argue.
“Of course not. But you can prove your strength in a more benign manner. Make them question their allegiances.”
“A magic show will not place me in their favour. They are my father’s men.”
Isadora gets a twinkle in her eye. One I have seen on many previous occasions; right before she snookers her opponent without missing a step.
I sigh. I am sure I will not like this. But Mikkos and Leon have forgotten who I am. They have forgotten I am my father’s son. I might have played the rebellious heir too successfully. It has been some time since my people have seen exactly what it is I can do.
“A show of power could over tax me,” I point out. Without Casey here to draw on the Thisavros connection, I am not as strong as Isadora has come to expect.
She glances at me, then crosses her arms over her chest.
“What is it you always say to Cassandra?” she demands.
“That I will love her for eternity; no matter what?” I offer and skip out of reach of Dora’s flying fist.
She scowls at me. “Once a Thisavros always a Thisavros,” she murmurs softly.
I hear the pain in her voice. I don’t see it on her face, but I know it is there. At one time, she believed we would be Thisavros to each other. I realise that Isadora has grown up.
I wonder where it is she will go when the dust has settled.
“Yes,” I say simply. Because to say more would be to hurt her. And although I may be quite prepared to hurl words at Melita that sting, I cannot bring myself to do the same to Dora.
Dora has never betrayed me. Made mistakes, yes. But those even Casey can forgive her. So, I find that I can be magnanimous too, it seems.
“You may not be able to draw on your connection,” Isadora says, her voice now steady. “But you can reach for it.”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“Trust me,” she says, cryptically.
I shake my head. “Please tell me you have not been spending time with Hippolytos.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps. Then adds, “The shaman offered me a strange drink.”
“He did what?” I say, halting in my steps. How could she?
Isadora starts laughing, shaking her head, tears leaking out of the side of her eyes. I am momentarily alarmed. What the hell did the shaman put in that drink?
“Too easy,” she says between gasps for breath. “Oh, Aetheros,” she rasps, continuing to laugh vigorously.
“I see,” I say, realising this bizarre creature before me, who should be Isadora Petros, is, in fact, teasing me. “I understand now,” I say, and start to walk again.
It takes her a few seconds to catch up.
“What do you understand, my King?”
Oh, now she is really pushing it.
“Who you’ve been spending time with,” I say, conversationally.
“If you didn’t get it, that was a joke,” she explains dryly. “As if I would share a drink with that nutcase.”
“Oh, so it was another nutcase you shared a drink with?”
“What?”
I look down at her and smile; for some reason I am happy. I should not be happy. Too much is up in the air, and I have lost Cassandra.
I lean forward, lower my voice conspiratorially, and say, “I, too, think Marcus Eden is a nutcase.”
Isadora blinks at me. And then she starts raging.
I am laughing as I cross the camp, all eyes upon me. The man who challenges a Rigas and does so cheerfully.
Maybe Casey’s brother and the Aeras shaman are not the only nutcases.
That only seems to make me laugh harder until several people in the camp take up the refrain and laugh along with me.
If only they knew why I was laughing.
Nutcases.
Chapter Five
That She Will Forgive Me
The sun sets in a blaze of reds and oranges. Rangitoto Island silhouetted against a backdrop as old as time and as beautiful as any masterpiece. The funeral pyres stand resolutely against a background that is awe inspiring. There are too many bodies to count.
We have all lost somebody.
My mother stands with her cronies. Melita at her side. My father has been allowed out of confinement in order to pay his last respects. He is bound by Alchemist chains; a notion that is at once reprehensible and also quite necessary. Marcus Eden stands to one side of him, Noah, the doctor, at the other.
I meet Casey’s brother’s eyes and nod my head.
Nero stand in various monstrous forms, the scent of the ocean gently wafting on the breeze.
Aeras stand behind their King, the shaman dancing to a tune only he can hear, but one that speaks to every person who watches on bemusedly.
Pyrkagia is divided. I know it is because of me. Some stand with my mother, who is closest to my father and the Alchemists. Some stand with me.
It is heartbreaking. How can such a powerful caste of people be so weak?
I glance behind me and share a look with Aktor. Nico is at his side. Sonya, the human, beside him. Isadora stands at my right shoulder. Behind us stand Pisces and Hippolytos, as if we are still battling an imbalanced world and Cassandra is present.
I realise when both men nod their heads to me that they are standing behind me and not Aether.
I let out an incredulous breath of air.
They stand behind Aether’s sword.
Cassandra may not be here, but I am. Her Thisavros. I will always fight for Casey. On her behalf and to be at her side eventually.
This needs to be done, although that does not make it any easier.
But for Casey, I will win. I am her sword.
I step forward; no one accompanies me.
“In order for balance to exist,” I say, “we must all believe.”
There are murmurs of agreement and not surprisingly some grumbling.
“We must cast aside our vengeance,” I say, “and embrace inclusivity.”
The stars burst out above us. No one dares bicker further when Aetheros watches from the heavens.
“‘Aether is for balance,” I say, “as Air is to breathe. Aether is for harmony, as Water is to life. Aether is for peace, as Earth is to ground us. Aether is for survival, as Fire is to fight.’”
The shaman cackles delightedly.
No one else utters a single word.
“I am not Aether,” I say. “I would make a poor Aether.”
I look at each face I can see in the dim light of the stars and then continue.
“But never doubt that I am her sword.”
The funeral pyres flare to life, Fire licking up to the heavens. Gold blazes from my eyes; Pyrkagia responds en masse, together. Ice-blue eyes blaze as the mournful cry of sea creatures surround us. An eerie white shines from the Aeras camp, as the shaman continues to dance and cackle. The earth shudders, even though the Gi are not here. But amongst the Alchemists, Noah in particular, green shines brightly.
“We have all sacrificed,” I say loudly over the roar of the flames. “We have all lost.”
The funeral pyres flame higher and higher; gold blazes up to the night sky from my eyes, sweat beads my brow and my body thrums
with the potent force of Pyrkagia.
And then a silence descends over the congregated, and the sound of a bird cawing reaches our ears. The rustle of leaves and the hiss of a snake follow. The slow buzz of a lazy bee and the sweet scent of flowers engulf us. The flutter of wings and the splash of fish in a river touch our senses.
The Amazon bursts to life all around us.
We can not see it. We can only hear it. Smell it. Sense it. Through the flickering flames of Fire.
Casey has sacrificed her Pyrkagia to save the Gi and our world. There is no one in her camp who can communicate through the flames of a fire. But she is my Thisavros, and when I reach for her, I can hear. I can scent. I can feel.
I will never be able to touch Cassandra this way. I hadn’t been sure I’d be able to reach her, either. But I trusted Dora as I trust my Thisavros connection. And I reached out into the ether and touched, maybe not Casey, but that which makes us connected.
Perhaps she can feel the heat of my flames. Perhaps she has a fire burning, and she can hear our funeral pyres raging. Perhaps it is only one sided, and Aetheros believed I needed a hand to stake my claim.
It does not matter. I have done what no other has attempted. At this moment, I rule Fire. Pyrkagia dances to my command as it does no other. Not even my father.
My eyes find him involuntarily. He seethes where he sits, his glower almost palpable from across the space between us. Both Marcus and Noah watch him closely.
If anyone here can disrupt my display, it is Gallus Petropoulos.
But to do so would be to disrupt the sacred burning of our dead. And even my father has some restraint.
It won't last. The time is swiftly approaching where we must pit ourselves against each other. Pyrkagia stands at the precipice of a dark abyss, one wrong step and it will be lost forever.
I wonder at that moment, as Fire blazes through my veins, if I am making a mistake.
And then I think of Casey in that dungeon, stretched out on a mad scientist’s table.
I think of our severed Thisavros connection; the very connection that brings the Amazon right here to Auckland City.
I think of what my father almost succeeded in doing. Tearing us apart forever.
Pyrkagia surges within me. So wild. So angry. A Fire spitting rage.
And the funeral pyres burst apart in a blaze of heat and glowing embers, ash raining down to cover us in heated waves.
The connection to Casey and the Amazon is lost.
The dead have evaporated. Or dissipated. They are gone.
And I stand before a group of people who equally fear me and am in awe of me.
My father looks pale.
For a moment, I let them see me. Truly see me. The me I am because of the woman I love beyond all reason.
For a moment, I accept my fate.
Then I say, cooly, “To have balance we must believe. And never stop believing. Together.”
Silence greets me. I am tempted to say more.
But with one last look at those standing before me, I turn and walk away.
After a few steps, I realise Isadora is walking behind me. Behind her is Aktor and Nico and Sonya. Behind them is Pisces and Hip and Marcus Eden.
We walk in silence to the tent Aktor has claimed as our base. The one he had been in with Sonya. I push open the flap, step inside, and then miss my footing. My legs give out beneath me as if they can no longer carry my weight.
Sweat coats me now. My breathing is laboured. The tent is spinning. I feel a pain in my chest that I can only describe as excruciating.
The tent is closed behind me, someone lights a lamp, and then my body starts to shake.
I know what is happening. I’ve spent too much energy. Given too much of myself to the flame. My body will be shutting down, my organs swift to follow. My teeth chattering as my mind closes itself off, lest it gets devoured by the hungry flames.
“Quickly,” I hear Aktor say. “Isadora, feed him.”
I shake my head; although I am sure in reality, I have no such control over my body. And then Dora’s Pyrkagia flares beside me and I can't stop from reaching. Grasping. Consuming.
Not Dora, I want to shout. Casey would not like it. Not Isadora, my mind feebly says.
But I have no recourse. I have no chance of stopping this. I have fed too long from a well that is almost empty. I am starved, and she is offering a feast. And I am too gluttonous to deny myself a feeding.
As consciousness diminishes, I send a prayer up to Aetheros that Casey will understand. That she will forgive me.
And I receive a soft stroke of a delicate hand down my face.
“Even swords need to be oiled occasionally,” I could swear I hear Cassandra say.
Chapter Six
Then Go
The swipe of a wet cloth on my brow wakes me. For a second, I think it is Casey. Then I hear the human say, “Finally.”
My eyes blink open, but I cannot see a thing. It is pitch black inside the tent. I hear steady breathing. I feel the warmth of bodies surrounding me. The wet cloth is returned to my face carefully.
“What are you doing?” I manage to say.
“Don’t know why y’all wanted me to look after you,” the human mutters. “Not like I could tell what was going on with those freaking funeral pyres.”
“Where is Aktor?” I demand, my voice stronger.
“Still out cold,” she says.
Alarm courses through me. Has my mother done something already? Before the Council meeting? I would not put it past her, but Right of Rule has some measure of protection. Until the Council meets, I and my entourage should be off limits.
I close my eyes again and let my head fall back on the bedroll.
“Tell me what happened?” I say.
“You know, I liked you better when you were just a flirt at the deli,” Sonya mumbles.
I can't help the smile that spreads my lips. Sonya has always had a bite to her. But it is the mention of the delicatessen Casey owned, the one I used to frequent daily just to see her face, which makes me grin.
“She was full of so much Fire even then,” I say.
Sonya huffs out a breath, but her ministrations become less brutal.
“Apparently,” Sonya starts, “you used an excessive amount of Pyrkagia to make those pyres disappear.”
I did, but I won't voice that aloud.
“So much,” she adds, “that when you walked back in here, you collapsed.”
“Dora fed me,” I murmur, dread pooling in my gut. Sonya will tell Casey. Not that I intend to keep it from my Thisavros. But the truth does not assuage the guilt.
“Isadora,” Sonya corrects in an imitation of Cassandra. I nod my head, accepting the reprimand. “As did Nico and Aktor,” she says.
“All three?” I open my eyes and scan the tent, but it is still so dark in here. “They are recovering?”
“Yes. Aktor said sleep would revive them.”
“It should,” I say, gently pushing her hand and the cloth away so I can sit up.
The world spins lazily for a moment, my stomach churning.
How am I to fight my father, an Ancient, if I am taxed so much putting on a simple display?
“That did not go quite how I expected it to,” I admit.
My eyes adjust to the low lighting, and I see Sonya’s pale face across the tent from me. She’s at Aktor’s side now, running the wet cloth over his forehead gently. More gently than she did me. I glance at Dora. Isadora, I correct with an amused smile. It does not look like she’s received the same treatment.
I should count myself lucky the little human bothered to tend to me at all.
“If it’s any consolation,” Sonya says, “Aktor wasn’t at all surprised.”
I frown at my old friend but say nothing. Then I hear voices outside.
I am up, swaying on my feet in an instant, Fire pooled in my hand, ready to hurl.
Sonya shades her eyes from the sudden bright light and scowls at me.
> “That’s Pisces and Hip,” she advises. “They’re standing guard.”
I blink at her, then look toward the sealed flap of the tent. Have we a guard?
“Oh,” I say, and let the ball of Fire in my hand go out.
The tent flap opens in the next instant, and through it appears Marcus Eden.
“Were you standing guard also?” I ask.
He looks at me, the light from fires outside making his face appear in silhouette only. I reestablish the ball of Fire and let it float up to the ceiling to illuminate us more softly.
Mark looks to Sonya and arches his brow.
“Is he all right?” he asks her.
I scowl.
“A bit slow, but he's getting there,” she says, and I turn the scowl on the human instead.
“Easy, your Bitchy-and-Bossiness,” Marcus says. “We expected you to be out for a few more hours.”
“How long has it been?” I ask.
Marcus moves into the tent fully, and I notice then that he carries a bag. He places it down beside Dora’s feet and takes a seat. I’m not surprised he places himself between Isadora and myself. There may be aspects of Marcus Eden’s character I do not particularly like, but I cannot deny he is a natural protector.
“Maybe an hour and a half,” he says, reaching for a bottle of water and unscrewing the lid. He takes a drink and then hands it to Sonya. She also drinks and then hands it to me.
Such a simple sharing of resources. Not for the first time, I am reminded that we are a team.
“That’s good,” I say. “I need to make an appearance or the effort will mean nothing.”
“Agreed,” Marcus says. “That little display has tipped the scales.” My turn to arch a brow at him. “Camp Crazy has halved its membership,” he says. “We’ve got a few more Pyrkagia calling for a new King. Specifically, you as King.”
“I am the heir.”
“You were exiled. Or was that little magic show you put on just for fun?”
I shake my head and sit back down on the bedroll. I am still feeling a little weak. Sonya rummages in a pack and produces a breakfast bar. She hands it to me without a word. I realise I am hungry. Human hungry. Not Stoicheio hungry. I accept the offering and begin to eat.
The Eternal Edge Of Aether Page 3
