Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Traveling through the Void towards Triah was quick work; once you began moving in a direction, you gradually accelerated as long as you stayed on the same trajectory. Unusually, Kali felt resistance, although she was still able to travel easily enough to slip through the darkness like a ship cutting through calm water, and soon she saw Triah’s cluster ahead of her. It was a bright pinpoint of light from a distance, but as Kali approached it expanded into a million points of light.

  Kali knew her way around Triah better than any other place in the world. She focused her attention on the center of the cluster, where she knew all of the important lights would be: Parliament, Canta’s Fane, the Citadel, and beneath the Citadel the Nazaniin headquarters.

  The lights were brighter here, although no theorists had yet been able to determine why the consciousnesses of people of great power or influence shone more brightly than others. Some said it was simply their effect on others; they influenced and commanded other lights, and thus drew light from them. Others said it was more of an innate power, shining from within their own potential. Kali did not care. She found such debates tedious, unless they could help her better understand how to use the Void. They had not been effective in that sense, so far.

  As Kali searched through the lights, she imagined herself descending the tower of the Citadel, moving down through the floors, beneath the school for gifted and powerful children and finding herself in the headquarters of the Nazaniin, moving further underground still, until she reached the Heart of the Void, the central meeting place of the Nazaniin.

  And there, in the Heart, she saw two of the lights for which she searched. She would recognize them anywhere, brighter than almost any other individual lights she had seen.

  “They failed.” One of the lights flashed as Kali heard the words, and an image began to coalesce before her, like a reflection in a lake settling after a light rain.

  She saw a woman form from the other light, her red hair—longer than Kali remembered—tied back in a ponytail. Sirana. “Just as you predicted,” Sirana whispered, her light flashing simultaneously as she spoke.

  Kali could barely make out the two figures standing at opposite ends of the map table in the Heart of the Void. Sirana on one end, and on the other, Kosarin, bespectacled, bald, and stroking the circle beard he wore cut short.

  “It was a necessary sacrifice,” Kosarin said. Kali watched him adjust his spectacles. “For the good of the Sfaera.”

  “We already knew she was the Harbinger. Was it necessary to sacrifice Kali and Nash?”

  They knew, Kali thought. They knew all along that Winter was the Harbinger. She fought her rising anger.

  “It was the final test. You know the girl had to face them, in order for us to know for certain.”

  “Our sources say it was Lathe who did most of the work. If the girl didn’t even participate, then the whole thing tells us nothing.”

  They were not certain, then? Kali frowned. Winter had to defeat her and Nash, in order to prove herself the Harbinger? That did not make sense. Sirana was right; Lathe—Knot, now—had done most of the work.

  And then Kali understood. Sirana seemed to have the same realization. She leaned forward. “You killed them because they were a threat,” she whispered, her fingers brushing a wooden chip representing a battalion of the Khalic army.

  Kali noticed the bracelet Sirana still wore, a bracelet of voidstones that formed a ward, protecting her from an acumen’s delving, Kosarin’s included. Even if Kali had her powers, she wouldn’t be able to discern Sirana’s thoughts.

  “You had them killed because Kali was growing too strong,” Sirana said, quietly.

  Kali was surprised at the pride she felt swell within her. She had always considered Sirana a rival to eliminate. But to hear such praise from Sirana—and, in a way, from Kosarin—pleased her. The feeling was almost as strong as the anger she felt towards Kosarin for what he had done to her.

  “I did what was necessary for the Nazaniin,” Kosarin said, his voice hard. “You’re in no position to argue. You should be thanking me, Sirana. Kali had her eye on your position.”

  Sirana laughed softly. “Kali couldn’t have my position. She was an acumen. If she took anyone’s place, it would have been yours.”

  She’s right about that, Kali thought.

  “I did us both a favor. I suggest you stop worrying about it; what’s done is done.”

  The faded, shimmering image of Sirana clenched her jaw. Kali could understand the woman’s anger. If Kosarin had betrayed Kali, when would he betray Sirana? It seemed only a matter of time.

  “If you’re thinking I’m going to do the same thing to you, don’t worry,” Kosarin said, sighing. He sat back in one of the wooden chairs around the table. “I need you, Sirana. I have always needed you. That has not changed.”

  Sirana remained silent. For a brief moment, Kali felt the slightest hint of pity for the woman. After all, she had ordered her own husband, Lathe, on what she must have thought was a suicide mission into Roden. When the mission met its inevitable failure, she had called off the rescue operation. When someone matching her husband’s description had shown up in Pranna, she had stepped aside and allowed Kosarin to send Kali and Nash. And, when the prophecies called for it, she had remained silent when Kosarin had called for Lathe’s death.

  Sirana had been following orders, for all the good it did her. Kali could respect that.

  Kali suddenly realized she was drifting. She was being drawn slowly… somewhere. It did not take long for her to figure out where. She was being drawn backwards, back towards Izet.

  Back to Winter.

  Was the girl’s pull really that strong?

  “What of the events in the palace?” Sirana asked.

  Kali struggled to remain where she was. Did the Nazaniin know what had happened in Roden? Had they some knowledge of what others were calling the work of the Nine Daemons?

  “The ritual was successful.”

  “And what of the Ceno? What of this new religion?”

  “Old religion, technically. Their leader is dead, but I’m sure they will regroup. They will be more of a threat than we realized, if they truly can block psimancy. We will have to be careful around them.”

  “It seems we have other, larger problems to worry about,” Sirana said.

  Kosarin nodded. “That we do. We live in an unprecedented time. The Nine Daemons will walk the Sfaera again.”

  Kali regarded Kosarin in surprise. She had not expected him to be a believer, of all people.

  “You’re still certain it was necessary?”

  “For the Harbinger to reach her greatest potential, she must face the most powerful foes.”

  The way Kosarin and Sirana were speaking made it seem like they had something to do with what happened in Roden after Kali died. After her transformation, rather.

  Kosarin removed his spectacles and began cleaning them with a small cloth. “Now that the Rising has begun, we’re going to need to keep control of the Harbinger. The death mark on Lathe’s head is officially repealed, and anyone who can bring him home will be rewarded.”

  “We need to be careful about who we send to bring them in,” Sirana said. “It needs to be someone we trust.”

  “We’ll send Code.”

  Kali laughed to herself. Code was the wrong choice. People said he was powerful, but Kali had strong feelings about that kind of thing. Never send a variant to do an actual’s business. If Kali couldn’t handle Lathe, there was no way Code would be able to. She tried to move closer to Kosarin and Sirana, but she was drifting away, the pull growing stronger.

  Sirana shook her head. “He’s on assignment in Alizia. Won’t be back for weeks, at least. Cymbre just returned; shall we send her instead?”

  Kosarin nodded. “She will do. Have her form her own cotir, and leave for Roden as soon as possible. We’ve received a recent contract request that might coincide nicely with their search for Lathe.”

  “And if Lathe doesn’t
want to come back?”

  They still did not know what happened to him. Or, at least, they had not believed Kali’s reports. They did not understand that Lathe was no more.

  Kali could still remember the man’s last words to her. My name is Knot.

  Kosarin sighed. “You know the consequences, Sirana.”

  Kali did well enough. Death.

  “Canta rising, we’ve got a lot of shit to do now,” Kosarin grumbled. “I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow begins a new age. It’s up to us to determine whether it is humanity’s last, or not.” Then he stood and walked out of the room.

  Sirana remained, looking at the map pinned to the large table before her. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

  Kali watched Sirana for a moment longer, but the pull on her was so strong now that it seemed to take all of her energy to remain where she was. Reluctantly, Kali let herself be drawn back to Izet’s cluster in the Void and the burning dark-light that now fully controlled her.

  Two months ago

  Kali found that she couldn’t venture far from Izet for long without Winter’s pull dragging her back. But the longer she stayed in Izet—the longer she stayed close to Winter—the more interesting things became.

  Winter, it seemed, had gained access to acumency. Such a thing was unheard of; there was no record of anyone having more than one psimantic power in the history of the psionic arts. But Winter was the Harbinger. And, based on the strangeness of her dark-light star, she was an exception to the rule.

  Winter’s dark-light did not seem to function the way normal lights did in the Void. During her observations at the Citadel, Kali had seen acumen lights in action. Normally, an acumen light moved from place to place, interacting with other lights through tendra. Winter’s star remained completely stationary, but drew other lights to it—through it—and interacted with them directly, with no tendra whatsoever.

  It was a fascinating process to watch. Winter would jump from mind to mind, would draw those lights through her in the Void. Kali had no idea what it meant, but it was certainly new.

  There was another phenomenon she noticed, one light that was not actually a light at all—or, rather, it seemed completely covered by darkness. Kali couldn’t discern who or what this light was, and Winter did not seem able to do so either. Although Kali had noticed, just barely in the corners of her vision, that when she was able to discern this dark object, it had some connection to something greater, something almost like a tendron that connected it with a larger force.

  Mysteries filled the Void, more than ever before.

  One month ago

  Based on what she learned from eavesdropping on Kosarin and Sirana, Kali had a new set of ambitions. Kosarin had considered her a threat; that was why he had ordered her into a situation that got her killed.

  Not quite killed.

  A sense of urgency stalked her, as constant and nagging as the pull of Winter’s immolating darkness. Which was why she had resolved to show Kosarin what he was truly up against. Kali had threatened him before; she would find a way to do it again, and make him understand what the feeling truly meant.

  Unfortunately, Winter’s pull was more and more difficult to escape. Kali could now only move away for short periods at a time, and could rarely find any conversations or lights worth investigating. She was beginning to understand how fortunate that first trip had been.

  In Kali’s most recent attempt to find Kosarin, Sirana, or even Rune, she managed to stay in Triah for what felt like mere moments before Winter’s pull exerted its inevitable weight. But for those few moments, Kali recognized something odd. That same uneasy feeling, that same strange quality that affected Izet was now present in Triah, too. In Triah it was different, if only slightly, and because it was different it was almost easier to detect. It was as if a shroud had enveloped the Triah cluster, barely visible but detectable nonetheless. It was a misty film, of a faded, mostly transparent, purplish hue. What it meant, Kali didn’t know. But she was beginning to suspect it had something to do with what had happened in Roden—with the ritual that Kosarin and Sirana had mentioned.

  As she was pulled back from Triah, Kali noticed another phenomenon. She passed a small light, what she was sure would be a tiny cluster if she drew closer to it, covered by another shroud, similar to what ensconced Triah, although this one was blue rather than violet. What these colors meant, Kali could not even begin to guess.

  And, when she returned to Izet once more, she finally saw what had been bothering her the entire time. Perhaps it was because she had noticed the shrouds around Triah and that place in between, or perhaps it was something else, but as Kali approached Izet she saw it. Another shroud, like that around Triah, but this one was so black that it was almost invisible, blending in with the Void. And, if Kali had to venture a guess, she would say that the strange darkness, the light that was completely covered, was connected to this shroud in some way through that strange tendron.

  Kali realized she’d been reaching for the paper in her pocket once more. Old habits died hard.

  Three weeks ago

  Winter’s pull was getting stronger. Kali could still travel with some effort, but she was not sure she would be able to make it all the way to Triah again. She resigned herself to observing the strange dark-light pulsing, occasionally going through periods of cycling through a half-dozen or a dozen lights, drawing them in, processing them for a moment, and then sending them back out.

  It was during one of these cycles that the dark-light grew into a blur; it had been a tiny point of existence in the Void, but then it began to change. The dark-light grew.

  And then Kali was no longer staring at the dark-light. Instead, she was staring at Winter.

  Kali immediately moved closer, but as strong as the pull had been before, something had replaced it. A repulsion emanating from Winter kept Kali at bay. She struggled to approach the girl, speak to her, but to no avail.

  This is it, Kali thought, this is my opportunity. This is what I need to regain control.

  Kali pushed against the force that repelled her, pushed with all the urgency she had felt during her time in the Void, now accumulated and compounded and crackling all around her. She strained, watching as Winter—a corporeal, tangible Winter, eyes and hair dark as the Void around her—walked through the Void, her footsteps sending ripples of color out into the black.

  As Kali fought her way closer to Winter, she began to sense herself, her body, forming.

  Winter looked first afraid, then confused, and finally curious. But, just as Winter started to move in Kali’s direction, just as Kali was moving through whatever force restrained her, Winter looked up, and seemed to look directly at Kali.

  Kali cried out, tried to communicate with the girl, but she did not hear her. Instead, Winter’s eyes widened, flooding with terror.

  Kali cried out again. Winter took a few steps backwards, colors echoing beneath her, raising her arms to shield herself.

  What are you? Winter asked, her timid voice echoing within Kali’s consciousness.

  Kali! Winter, it’s me, Kali! Answer me, tell me you can hear me! For the love of Canta, answer me!

  Then Winter was gone.

  Yesterday

  Kali had been drifting, letting the expanse of the Void wash over her, thinking of nothing, when the familiar pull of the dark-light shifted once more into resistance. Immediately Kali’s awareness heightened. She looked around, and sure enough saw Winter timidly stepping through the Void, trailing ripples of color.

  Almost immediately her eyes fixed on Kali.

  Who are you? she asked.

  Kali. I am Kali. Winter, you must hear me, you must remember me, Kali shouted, all the while fighting her way closer and closer. Her body was once again forming around her, solidifying in the Void.

  Tell me who you are, Winter said again, her voice more hard, now, strained. I demand it.

  Kali stopped. The resistance was gone. And, as she looked dow
n at herself, she saw herself. Her body. Her feet, making ripples of color of their own.

  Winter?

  Winter’s eyes opened wide. Yes. Who… who are you?

  Kali took a tentative step forward.

  Who are you? Winter repeated.

  Winter, Kali said, smiling despite herself, delighting at the ripples of color spreading from her footsteps, delighting at the feeling of her hands, the taste of her tongue, the weight of herself.

  “Welcome to the Void, Winter,” Kali said, no longer in the language of the mind, but with words they could both hear, with the mouth she did not have before.

  “Kali,” Winter said, realization dawning on her face.

  Kali’s smile broadened. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  And then, once more, Winter blinked out of existence, and with her, Kali’s physical body. But Kali did not mind. She knew Winter would be back. It was only a matter of time.

  PART III

  ACHING FAITH

  31

  Imperial palace, Izet

  “I WISH YOU WOULDN’T write on our bed, dearest. You’ll spill the ink.”

  Cova glanced at the papers scattered around her, and the bottle of ink perched precariously on a stack of books on the bed. Dearest? When had Girgan started calling her that? They’d only been married a few weeks.

  “Where have you been?” Cova asked, keeping the bottle of ink where it was. “You disappeared after dinner without a word.” It was not the first time Girgan had done so. Cova understood that he was not particularly sociable, but that didn’t mean he could avoid her.

  Girgan sat next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. I’ve been at the library.”

  Cova rolled her eyes. “One of these days you’ll have to tell me what you’re reading that takes up so much of your time.”

  “One day, I will,” Girgan said. He reached for the bottle of ink. “Now, please, let’s just move this…”

  Cova slapped his hand. “I’ll not move a thing. I’ve been writing in bed since I was a child and I haven’t spilled once.” That wasn’t exactly true, but what did Girgan know? “What I really need is help with this proposal. I can’t get it to sound quite right. Will you help me?”