by L M R Clarke
“Mantos!”
Fonbir’s eyes were wide as moons as he stared at Mantos for his impudence. But Mantos didn’t back down.
Bomsoi laughed deeply and shook her head.
“Call me what you will,” she said, “but I am not evil. Or tainted. Moon Rogues, demons, none of it means anything to me. I don’t expect you to believe I am who I say I am. You asked me to tell you what exactly I am, not tell you something you would believe. And now you know.”
Mouth still gaping, Mantos whirled on Fonbir. By the paleness of his face, Mantos knew the answer to his question before he asked, but he asked anyway. “Did you know this?” His voice was strained with disbelief.
“I... I did not,” Fonbir said. “I knew that Bomsoi was strange and powerful, and that she brought back my sight, but I did not know she was a god.”
“I am the daughter of gods,” Bomsoi corrected gently. Her smile dimmed. “My descendants are descendants of gods. But I am no god.”
“This is nonsense,” Mantos said.
Bomsoi clasped her hands in front of her abdomen and shook her head. “It is not nonsense,” she said. “It might seem senseless, but it is not nonsense.” She paused before continuing. “I think it is time we had a long talk, you and I.”
“What—?”
But Mantos’ words were cut at the quick, and the next thing he knew, he was falling, falling, falling...
WHERE AM I?
His thoughts echoed from all directions.
Where am I?
Where am I?
Falling and falling into an endless abyss, Mantos whirled through the freezing air. Exposed skin burned with the cold, his fronds whipping up and around as he hurtled through oblivion.
And then he was on the ground again, nestled in a snow drift—yet he was no longer cold.
“Where am I?”
His words didn’t return this time. Instead, he received a reply: “You are in my home.”
Mantos looked up. It was Bomsoi, resplendent in sparkling robes, one hand outstretched. He allowed her to pull him upright. He stared, drinking in every detail of the icy vista.
There were sheer ice cliffs and towering evergreen trees, all dusted with glimmering snow. The sky was black, pinprick stars blinking and winking in its velvety darkness. The moons rose high above him, murmuring to each other.
“Where am I?” Mantos asked again.
When Bomsoi chuckled, the sound rumbled across the vacuous landscape. It was as though nothing was alive but them.
“You are like all princes,” Bomsoi said. “You talk much and listen little. I told you where you are. You are in my home.”
Feeling his face flush, Mantos snarled. “Where is your home?” he clarified.
Bomsoi’s response was typically vague. “Everywhere,” she said. “And nowhere.”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Mantos instead closed them. “Why have you brought me here?”
“I need to tell you the truth of this world,” Bomsoi replied.
Opening his eyes, Mantos shook his head. He crossed a snowdrift and sat on a bank, his head reeling from the lack of cold. “But why did you bring me here, to this place?”
Bomsoi chuckled, the sound like chimes in the wind. “Because here I feel safe,” she said. Her laughter abated and she shook her head. “Here I can tell you my story. For it begins in these mountains, where I was hatched and raised.”
Mantos turned his palms upright and caught her eyes. “Then tell me,” he said. “I have little choice.”
Bomsoi chuckled anew, the brightness back in her voice. She glided over, making no imprint in the snow, and settled on top of the drift.
With a sigh, Bomsoi pressed a hand to his cheek. Her eyes glowed blue. When she began to speak, her lips didn’t move. Instead, the words sounded inside Mantos’ head.
BEFORE TIME EXISTED, the goddess Meia existed. The Goddess Meia, the Grandmother of the World, existed before all things, and all things come from Her.
The Goddess poured forth her love and created the world, and all the stars and moons in the Arc of the Sky. And once She had created the world, She picked the littlest of the claws from both hands, and turned them into two young Goddesses, for whom She would have the greatest love and whom She would call Nunako and Dorai.
Nunako and Dorai split the world, each taking what they wished. While Nunako took the day, she took the moons in the night. And while Dorai took the night, she took the sun in the day. Together they were together, always intertwined.
To Nunako, the Goddess Meia gave the powers of steadfastness and determination, and sent her out to bring into existence the workings of life. To Dorai, She gave the power of lovingness and kindness, and sent her forth to cultivate and care for those to whom Nunako created.
Now Meia created for Nunako and Dorai many worlds and moons, and the two Goddesses created an abundance of life. Nunako brought forth a myriad of plants of the earth and the sea, and Dorai cared for them with loving kindness.
One day, Dorai came to Nunako and told her of a desire to create a new life, a life that could strive to understand their godly nature, with thoughts that could comprehend them and a heart that would worship them.
So, using the bounty of the land they had forged together, Nunako sent forth animals to graze on the grassy fields, to burrow in the mountains and to swim in the boundless seas. But none of these creatures were what Dorai desired. And so Nunako worked hard, and finally created a new life in their divine image.
Thus, the Younglings were born. In the youth of the new life, Nunako and Dorai walked among them. Nunako showed them how to work the earth and the seas and skies, how to tame the animals and till the fields. Dorai taught them to show loving kindness to one another and to the world, so that they would live forever in perfect harmony.
However, as with all things, this was not to last.
Soon the Younglings began to chop down more trees than they needed, to kill more animals than they could eat, and even turned on one another, forgetting the lessons their godly Mothers had taught them. As the Younglings turned their backs on the Goddesses, Nunako and Dorai found they could no longer walk the lands or sail the seas. Both Goddesses turned to one another, not knowing what to do to regain the love of their Younglings. With their power draining away, they took their littlest claws, as once Meia the Grandmother had done, to create a creature to take their place in the world.
But they did not want to risk the new goddess being powerless. A life of both goddess and flesh would surely never be banished from the world. They placed the claws in an egg and left it on the doorstep of a godly male named Aisen Lelg, who had never raised younglings of his own.
And so they waited. And eventually, the savior came to life—the One of Balance.
This new life, part god and part flesh, was to bring the Younglings back into the fold of the Goddesses. But Nunako and Dorai soon discovered that their creation had the strength of a god but the weakness of flesh, and would not do as they asked.
And so, the Goddesses came to hate each other. Enraged, both blaming the other for their failure, Nunako and Dorai turned their backs upon one another. They latched onto the false idols the Younglings carved of stone and wood, the goddesses clawing back what little power they could.
Nunako lived again as the sun goddess, the Lady of Light, bringer of brightness and scourge of evil, holding up a lantern to light the way to eternal paradise.
Dorai became the five-armed goddess of the Dark: three arms on the left and two on the right, the sixth arm torn off to shield believers from the falsehood of Nunako.
Through all of this, Meia could do nothing.
The Goddesses spread their influence, no longer corporeal but appearing in spirits and dreams, commanding the Younglings to build towers and shrines and altars—for the more the Younglings worshipped them, the more powerful they became.
Nunako and Dorai became drunk on their power, demanding more and more. And Meia could only watch and weep.<
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The One of Balance should have cleared the world of hate, but she did not. She retreated to the mountains and made her own folk, and she did not venture down for many centuries. Not until the Grandmother of the World showed her the thread that was about to unravel.
What has been made cannot be unmade, she told her, but what has been made can be destroyed.
BY THE TIME BOMSOI removed her hand, she was weeping. Unable to stop himself, Mantos placed a hand on her shoulder. For all he’d distrusted her, her grief was palpable, and her story rang true.
“Bomsoi,” he began.
“Yes.” Tears spilled down her chin. “That is my name. Bomsoi. The One of Balance. But I did not do what I was hatched to do.” Her voice took on a razor’s edge of rage. “I turned away. I ran. I fled. I could not bear the burden that was placed upon my shoulders, the burden to bring peace to this world. But my cowardice has caused the deaths of so many, of nearly all my folk. And now I must make amends for my weakness. I must do as I was bid and bring balance.” She turned her blazing eyes upon him. They were twin blue flames. “And to do that, I need you.”
“Me?” Mantos said, withdrawing his hand as if he’d been burned. “Why me?”
“Because your brother meddled with powers he doesn’t understand,” she said. “He has unleashed the power of Dorai unto himself. He has declared himself the One of Two. It is only a matter of time before his mangled spirit pollutes the goddess. He has taken on the Goddess’ power, but he will use it for his own evil gains.” Bomsoi clasped her claws together. “But you, Mantos, you are not like him. Even though you were sired together, hatched together, raised together, just like Nunako and Dorai, you are good in your bones. You are the One of Two.”
Mantos stood and paced away. Then he whirled around, his fronds and tail spinning in his wake. “And what would you have me do? Kill Bandim? Kill my brother, who has become a goddess?”
“He is not a goddess,” Bomsoi said, standing again, “but he is corrupt, and has a corrupted Heart. Power will consume him and turn him into a mangled monster, with no hope of redemption. Your brother will unleash an evil on this world that we have never known, and we will not be able to stop it.”
Barking a laugh, Mantos shook his head. “Why not? Why can you not stop him? You seem to know a lot about him and his machinations.” He jabbed a talon at Bomsoi. “You are the daughter of gods. You are the one to stop him.”
“Were it that simple, I would have done so already,” Bomsoi said. Each word was laced with sorrow. “Were it that simple, I surely would. But I cannot. I need you. That is why I brought you from the brink of death. I need you.”
The desperation in her voice echoed into the expanse. Mantos took a pace forward. He tilted his chin in defiance. “What would you have me do?” he asked again.
The pause that followed made his neck scales unfurl.
“I would have you take on the mantle of Nunako,” Bomsoi said. “You must become the Hand.”
Eyes bulging, Mantos’ mouth went dry. “You would have me become a goddess so that I might kill my brother, also a goddess?” he scoffed. “You say my brother is possessed by a mangled spirit. How do you know that would not happen to me?”
Bomsoi padded down the bank towards him. For the first time, he noticed her feet were bare.
“Because the Heart I have for you is strong and brave and pure,” she said. “You would not turn from your path.”
“You mean like you did?” Mantos snapped, ignoring the strangeness of her words.
Bomsoi winced. “You would not turn from your path,” she said. “Not like me.”
A thousand thoughts raced through Mantos’ mind. “How can you expect me to do as you ask?” he asked. “None of this makes sense. It could all be a trick of the Dark.”
Bomsoi stepped forward again and shook her head. “There is no Dark,” she said. “There is no Light. There are only choices.”
To that, Mantos had an answer. But before he could give it, the half-god, half-flesh creature fell on her knees before him. She supplicated herself with a bent head.
“Please, Mantos of House Tiboli. If you cannot do it for me, do it for your brother. And if you cannot do it for your brother, do it for your beloved mother, who has suffered so much for so long at the hands of poor decisions. And if you cannot do it for her, do it for Fonbir, whom you yearn to spend the rest of your days with.”
To that, Mantos had no answer. His throat tightened. His talons clenched. He closed his eyes.
What was he to do?
CHAPTER FORTY
Emmy
As the battle drew closer, Emmy’s whole body shook. Medicine-Asri crouched in a corner of the main hall, hugging himself against the vicious jaws of battle. Medicine-Yarim disappeared into her alcove, as if the flimsy curtains would protect her. Those patients that had remained and were able cowered under their cots. Those that were insensible lay still, oblivious to everything.
Most of the cots had been cleared and lay empty, awaiting new casualties. At least, Emmy hoped they’d see new casualties. As macabre as that seemed, it was either that, or the building would be destroyed. Then they would all be dead.
Inside the building there was silence, broken only by the occasional sob. Outside was different. There had been nothing but drums and horns in the distance for some time. But now the first sounds of battle drew closer. Emmy’s heart stuttered.
Her friends were out there. Charo was fighting on the front line of a war that was not her own, a freed slave enslaved again.
The enemy edged closer and closer. Emmy gripped the handles of her daggers as the sound of cannon fire boomed ever louder.
She thought of Zecha, wherever he was. He hadn’t returned to the healers’ building as Rel had said, but instead was still out there following Althemerian command. Hopefully he was somewhere safe.
Emmy’s neck scales flexed as the cacophony drew ever closer, bringing her mind from her friends to herself. Drums beat and beat. The air was discordant with the sound of the fallen. Soon they would know the silence of death.
Emmy trembled harder as shadows danced against the walls. She thought of Rel, of her words.
If you need me, call for me. Concentrate hard, and I will hear you.
Rel the Bonebreaker was out there somewhere, a fearsome beast wielding Haelo, felling foes all around, coating her right arm in kills. Please come back to me, Rel, Emmy thought. Too much has happened. There’s so much I need to know. And...you’re my friend. I need you to come back to me.
The battle raged too close now. Emmy’s mouth was dry. Her heart was in her throat.
The Masvams were upon them, the battle cacophonous in her ears. Screams and screeches grew louder. The sobbing of the healers, protected only by soldiers outside and the walls around them, became ragged with terror.
Rel, and Rel’s friend. Bomsoi, Emmy thought, please protect me. Please protect us all!
Emmy leapt backward and screeched as the main door splintered, raining wooden shards in all directions.
A Masvam burst through, his breath chest heaving with rage. The first thing he laid eyes upon was Emmy. His face was a dark leer, his eyes black with the fury of battle. He dripped with blood.
The single face struck white-hot terror into Emmy’s heart. She knew it was too late. She knew she was gone, even before the Masvam cast his first blow. There was no hope.
“Easy prey!” he screeched.
His call summoned a hoard of fellow soldiers like a dark enchantment. Masvam warriors swallowed up the healers’ building,
Before Emmy could run, a sword swung so close to her face she could taste the metal. She leapt backwards, only a frond’s breadth separating her life from death. The Masvams bellowed, further overwhelming the building like a bloody wave.
Instinct overtook her. Clenching her daggers, a feral shriek built in Emmy’s chest. Determination roared red in her heart.
She swung her weapons in a wide arc and her attackers were forced bac
k. But the victory was momentary. Undeterred, two Masvams lunged forward with their terrifying scimitars. Emmy dropped a dagger and held up a hand, her eyes closed so tightly that moons danced in the darkness. Stop! she thought. Blades, stop! She envisioned the scimitars stilling, mid-strike. If only such wishes would work.
Now, all she had left was the brief wait before death.
But something happened.
The strange power pulsed through her, the sensation rattling her to her bones. Like when Rel touched her, she was consumed with a stark coldness.
The scimitars stopped dead, motionless in the air, hovering in a cocoon of blueness. The Masvams stared with dumb mouths.
“Moon Rogue,” one said. His voice lifted to a shriek. “Moon Rogue, it is!”
That word jolted Emmy from her anger. She stared at the weapons hanging in mid-air, the absence of rage giving way to utter confusion.
“What?” she whispered, breaking her gaze to stare at her hands. She dropped her other dagger. Concentration broken, the scimitars lost their blue and fell to the ground like stones. Emmy’s mouth gaped. “How is this possible?”
But there was no time to ponder.
“Kill it!”
“Tainted!”
“Moon Rogue, kill it!”
The screeching Masvam swept in, swinging at Emmy’s neck with a new blade. Emmy ducked away, shrieking, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge a second attack. The aim was off, but the blade caught her arm, slicing her armor.
Emmy whirled away with a shriek, and as she did, her tail collided with a brazier. The hot coals tumbled from their resting place, onto a nearby empty cot. They embraced the rough blankets, which burst into flame.
Within seconds, bright red tongues shot upward. A Masvam, caught by the sudden fire, tried to flee it. He stumbled sideways, knocking another cot into the flames. The fire took it quickly and soon it leapt up the walls, consuming the beams. It licked and bit and spat, belching smoke, burning what seemed impossible to burn.
The Masvams kept fighting through the fire, but more were caught in the blaze. They howled, wrapped in a blanket of flame. Others called to its power.
