STONE AND STRING
A The Wishing Blade Short Story
by Stephanie Flint
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Stephanie Flint
Formatting and cover design by Stephanie Flint
All rights reserved. Published by Infinitas Publishing.
infinitaspublishing.com
Table of Contents
“Stone and String”
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Thank You
Not Ready to Leave?
Connect with the Author
Stone and String
“Are you getting down from there or not?” Edyli crossed her arms over her chest. The branch above her wavered, and Akymi, her little sister, peeked between the leaves.
The girl shook her head. “No,” she said, her tiny voice not in the least bit giving.
Edyli sighed and twisted the strands of her black hair between her fingers. She had searched for her little sister all afternoon—squeezing through the crowded bazaar and tiptoeing through a hushed temple—and only now had the child finally shouted her presence to the world. Edyli had even considered using word magic to scry for her—and chances are that would not have ended well. She cupped her hands over her mouth. “Your first rites of magic are tonight. You cannot spend all afternoon hiding in that tree.”
“Yes I can.”
Petulant little—
Edyli took a deep breath. The girl would join her on the ground when she was ready. But she had wanted to perform those rites earlier. All morning she paraded around the house with her embroidered skirt, waving her sheer orange scarf and singing about how she was going to be the strongest mage of them all.
“All right.” Edyli craned her neck to the canopy. “Why are you hiding?”
A tiny, dark hand pointed between the leaves. Edyli followed the direction the fingers pointed to a peacock. The valiant bird strutted around a fountain, trilled and cocked its head, then focused its dark eye on Edyli as if it knew she watched.
She rubbed her temples. “Did you try plucking its feathers again?”
“Nooo…”
Edyli snorted. Of course Akymi would say she had not tried plucking a feather. She was too young to understand the importance of exactness and speaking truthfully. Ruetravahn help them… even the god of language could likely not teach her. Well, as long as the girl never tried word magic—or tried to weasel out of an offering to Madia, the goddess of death—then perhaps her tongue would not give her trouble. Edyli cast a glance to the fountain, where a statue of the gracious goddess solemnly watched.
She shivered, then walked to the twisted banyan tree her sister had climbed. Its trunk was thick and twisted like spun yarn, with sprawling branches that extended over the entire courtyard. Sunlight danced through the dark green leaves in spots like a giant peacock’s tail feathers.
She smirked. “You know peacocks can fly, right?”
“They…” Akymi stuck her head between the leaves, her eyes wide. “They can?”
Edyli inclined her head and patted the trunk. “Indeed. They like these low branches, like the one you sit on now. But if you come on down—”
The little girl shot up the side of the tree, her bare, scurrying feet knocking leaves into the warm breeze. Edyli scowled and glared at the peacock. “See what you did?”
The fowl merely turned, shook its rump at her to spread its feathers, and wandered off in search of a mate.
Her shoulders slouched. Akymi had climbed even higher into the tree and buried herself among the thick leaves. The girl stuck out her tongue.“It can’t get me now!”
“The bird is not even here now,” Edyli protested. “Please come down from there. We are supposed to meet with Vera in half an hour to go to the temple.” Their vera, their mother, was busy making preparations, which was why Edyli was in charge of corralling her younger sister.
“I don’t wanna.”
Edyli clenched her fists. If Akymi had not been so insistent on having a peacock feather to adorn her hair, she would not be having this trouble.
“I had to go when I was your age, and—Ruetravahn help me—you wanted to go this morning!” She eyed the tree. She was not nearly the climber her sister was—especially given that her sister had the added advantage of having ribbon magic to assist her—but she knew a thing or two.
She kicked off her sandals, unwrapped the blue scarf from her shoulders and carefully pooled it on the decorative tiles at her feet. She hiked her orange skirt to her knees and tucked the excess fabric into her waistband. Up she went. Slow going—slow but sure. She gripped the thinner branches between her lithe fingers and pulled herself higher. It had been a while since she last climbed this tree. She reached the first row of branches, balancing with the smooth bark tickling her toes.
The girl was only one branch above her. She gave Akymi her best “Vera’s” face, all stern and no-nonsense. “Are you sure you do not want to come down before I reach you?”
“Uh-uh.” The stubborn girl darted up the branches with the grace of a squirrel monkey.
Curse those ribbons! Edyli leaned against the trunk, the wind warming her midriff where she no longer wore the scarf. How did the people of Cirena deal with their mages? Here, Akymi was special. Most Cantingen-born had no magic of their own. A very few were gifted with ribbon magic, and even fewer were gifted with string magic.
Her chest constricted. What if Akymi had the ability to weave strings?
Those with string magic were taken to the temples on another island and kept in solitude to train under the high priestesses. Their gifts belonged to Madia, and they were not permitted to live with the others, with their family. What if Akymi had string magic, as well? What if they took her away?
Maybe… maybe she could tell Vera that she could not find Akymi. Her vera would be disappointed, but she would hardly blame her. Akymi had scaled the courtyard walls before, only to be found at the local bazaar, watching the pale strangers from Cirena with their enchanted wares. No one would worry if Akymi did not return until the stars rose in the night.
Edyli pursed her lips and glanced toward the statue of Madia. Her likeness was carved from obsidian—a precious, expensive statue shared among the neighbors around the courtyard. The goddess stood with her long robes and ankle-length hair frozen in the winds of the universe. Her hands were outspread with draping sleeves. Stars and swirls dotted her stone garment, each strand of her hair was carefully cut, and thin copper wires ran from hand to hand, the strings of life and death.
A shiver ran through Edyli’s spine, and she gripped the bark tighter. Once, she had climbed onto the statue’s arm, too curious for her six-year-old self to know any better. She had stroked the face of the goddess, whose eyes were carved with the map of the world. Ever watching, ever seeing, through this life and the one after.
Edyli lowered her eyes. As much as she wanted to, she could not lie to Vera, could not keep Akymi for herself if the priestesses determined she would stay with them. Her heart sank, and she carefully descended the branches.
“Come on down,” she called softly. “I will shoo away the peacock and tell Vera to wait for us.” She hopped from the tree, landing softly on the ceramic tiles of the courtyard.
“Edyli…” Akymi’s voice wobbled and broke. “My magic…”
Edyli spun around. Her sister stared at her from the branches, her dark skin ashen.
“I can’t feel my magic.” Akymi swayed, trying to
reach for the branch above. Her fingers reached, stretching, grappling for a hold. Edyli stared, cold with horror as her sister’s eyes rolled back and she tumbled backwards.
She fell.
“Akymi!” Edyli shrieked and raced to catch her. Branches cracked and spat leaves as Akymi fell between them. “Akymi!”
Leaves sprayed every direction as Akymi’s limp body broke the final layer of branches. Edyli lunged beneath her, arms outstretched. The girl’s small body crashed into hers and they collapsed. Akymi’s head snapped hard against the ceramic tile of the courtyard. Ragged gashes covered her skin, leaking crimson blood onto her bright, torn skirt.
“Akymi—” Edyli pressed her hands to the girl’s flushed cheeks. Akymi barely breathed. Her skin felt cold. “No… Vera!” She looked toward their house, tears streaking hot against her face. “Vera, Akymi’s in trouble!”
But her mother would not hear. She knew that.
“No. Come back to me.” Edyli pressed her fingers against the girl’s heart. Nothing. She lowered her ear to the girl’s chest. Nothing. She shot a pleading look to the statue. “Not now, Madia. Please not yet.” She buried her head in her sister’s chest, sobs catching in her throat.
Akymi would not even see her first rites of magic.
Edyli pushed away from her sister and stared at her sister’s face. The tiny button nose… same as her own. The baby cheeks. Her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. But the bruises and the gashes… this was not sleep.
Edyli gave one more glance to the rigid statue, its arms outspread as if to welcome Akymi. The copper strings of death between her fingers remained lifeless, the wind too soft for them to sing.
Edyli clutched her sister tighter. The girl’s skin felt clammy, ice cold even in the heat. “You cannot have her yet.” She cradled the girl in her arms, braced the girl’s head against her neck, and ran. “You cannot have her.” The banyan tree’s trunk was thick. She knelt on the other side, where the statue’s obsidian eyes—watchful eyes—could not see. She lay the girl against the tree so that her head was propped as comfortably as she could make it.
If she survived this, if anyone caught her…
She could not think of what would happen to her. For now, she needed to focus. Her mind needed to be clear for her to use word magic. “Sella guna dratetha nor. Somaria lon. Somaria mor. Dratetha shadi,” she sang softly.
I am balance. I seek life. I seek death. I am magic.
She opened her mind, letting out the horror of her sister’s fall. The chant helped clear her thoughts.
“Somaria Madia’kare si Lishivant’kare. Mimodul somaritra Karewalin. Wasandéa madil’Madia si…” Her voice faltered.
I am the thought of Madia and Lishivant. My body is Karewalin. I follow Madia’s plan…
To say this chant was to lie, because she was betraying those plans, denying Madia the return of the girl’s strings to her realm of the dead.
Edyli swallowed hard. She needed to forget the chants and open her mind. Say the words to heal her sister. She steeled herself, then whispered “Be la tachan qui’mishiol clisé trorlat javame jo lluséek éeth la be.”
Magic, restore the well-being of my sister as it was ten minutes before now.
Exhaustion hit her as if she had slammed face-first against the stone statue. She sagged. Her mind spun blank thoughts. The world was color and no names, a watery sensation of fluidity as if nothing existed and everything did.
She giggled, murmuring nonsense. Words… what were words?
Darkness crept in with a sinking coldness. As the world flushed away into a dance with death…
“Edyli?”
Edyli smiled. She knew that voice. That voice had a name.
Akymi.
Edyli collapsed over backwards and her head hit the tile. The pain blossomed in a rainbow. In the distance a statue, a strange shape, dark obsidian, all frowns and open arms… It seemed to scold her.
She laughed. “Fawasandéa madil’Madia,” she murmured, grinning in her madness as the world whirled around her. “Fawasandéa… niamadil.”
I do not follow… your plans.
The world swam in the warm embrace of darkness.
Warm mist sprayed across Edyli’s bare skin. Goosebumps traveled her arms. She opened her eyes and gasped. She floated. Brown sky rippled above her. Pale threads hung from the clouds, shimmering with an iridescent hue. She craned her head to look below her. The grass rippled green and had the same, spider-web-after-a-rain hue. She reached her fingers to the grass, straining to grab anything, then found comfort in the cool, damp stems. She pinched them between her fingers and pulled herself to the earth. Her skirt wavered, then fell around her as if gravity suddenly remembered it existed. She stood and brushed her skirt smooth, wishing she had her scarf to wrap around her. Though the air was warm and smelled of moist dirt, a chill lingered.
“Where am I?” she whispered. The grass extended forever, disappearing into the brown sky. Her shadow was long, and there were two of them, angled a distance apart. She turned, her skirt swishing around her bare feet. Her mouth parted in surprise. Two moons greeted her, huge and overarching, covering half the sky. One white and familiar, a waning gibbous—same as the moon that hovered over the Islands in the morning. The other cast a soft, fuzzy peach glow on her brown skin. There was something strange about that moon.
A lump formed in her throat and she quickly turned away. The last thing she remembered…
Akymi! She covered her mouth with her hands. Akymi had been dead. But she had heard her sister’s voice right before she fainted—
A shiver rolled down her spine and she collapsed to her knees. The two moons, the strings in the sky…
She had not fainted—she was dead.
She choked back a sob. No, this was not right! This was not supposed to happen. She had called back Akymi because she had wished to remain with her sister and see her sister’s rites, not so that she could die in her sister’s place!
She clamped her jaw and squeezed her eyes tight. Had she heard any instances of a mortal escaping the Goddess’s Realm? Anything at all?
She pressed her hand to her throat, to the woven choker there and the obsidian stone. A comfort for so many, knowing that their chosen god or goddess could watch over them through the stone eye. But now she wondered…
Had Madia seen her?
Had Madia seen her return Akymi to life?
She traced her thumb over the stone in the choker. That stone was tied to Ruetravahn, god of language. He would insist that spells were exact, of course. To do anything else was an insult to Karewalin, magic incarnate. But he would not likely protest her use of a spell to save her sister. She unwrapped the choker from her throat. “Hear me now, gracious Ruetravahn.” She pressed the stone to her forehead. “Ruetravahn, lorno mikaton—”
Hear my plea—
“Ruetravahn cannot hear you here, child,” a woman said. Her voice flowed thick, like a mixture of milk and honey. Edyli jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of her skirt.
The woman stood graceful, ghostlike. Her skirts were layers of sheer purple chiffon. Silver bracelets dangled around her wrists and clinked on her ankles. Her black braids had been secured under a silver and black scarf. Her skin was a light brown that resembled Edyli’s own, and her eyes were violet with tiny silver sparks.
Edyli stared, surprised, then dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the grass between her hands. “Your graciousness.” Which goddess, she could not be sure. But whoever she was, her ethereal quality matched the strings in the sky.
The goddess knelt beside Edyli, her skirts pooling around her knees like a lake of violet petals. “Rise, child.” She brushed her hand under Edyli’s arm, prompting her to sit on her feet. “Did you have ribbon magic?”
Edyli blinked. Was this goddess one of Madia’s messengers, sent to lead Akymi through the realm of the dead? She swallowed hard. “No, your graciousness.” Sh
e kept her eyes on her fingers as she twined them. “My sister does.”
The goddess tilted her head, and her dark braids dangled like strands of beads in a doorway. “Is your sister here now?”
Edyli licked her lips. Do not lie, she warned herself. Not to a goddess. “I used word magic to bring her back. I—inadvertently traded places with her.” She closed her eyes. There were stories of mortals who denied Madia of her plans. Stories of mortals who became little more than servants and slaves to the goddess’s whims. Those who helped her and obeyed her wishes might live on as if they had never died. Those strings hanging in the clouds… those were other lives being lived forever.
But those who did not, those who refused her wishes, they might wander in a desolate wasteland, forever seeking, their voices destroyed, their fingers bound with invisible threads to prevent them from ever again using words against her. She might weave their strings of life in a loop so they had to live the same moment over and over. They would go on and on, their minds always on the verge of cracking, breaking, but forever aware…
Edyli cast a furtive glance to the goddess and her gentle eyes. Maybe this one would be different.
“I wish to return.”
The goddess placed her hand on Edyli’s cheek. “Be careful how you phrase things, child. I have seen others whose wishes have led them to a path they now wish to run from.” Her expression softened. “Your sister… before you brought her back to the mortal realm, what was the cause of her death?”
“She said something about her magic, and then she fell. I think—I think she hit her head on a branch, and the ground.” Tears formed in her eyes. Seeing her sister lifeless, knowing she was on the verge of her first rites— “I could not leave her like that! I had the means to help her, and I did!”
“I understand, child.” The goddess stroked Edyli’s hair and brushed a strand behind her ear. “But you always have a choice. This is what Listhant-Nsasrar—Lishivant—gave us. And,” she paused. “And others.” She withdrew her hand, then pointed into the distance. “See them?”
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