The Rewa had obviously seen me.
I looked back at the Champawat Tiger. He’d seen them too, then he heard something that I, my senses muted and dull, couldn’t hear. It was his turn to look behind him and I followed his gaze.
Asena, Vriko and Susi broke from the tree line, orange blurs, racing toward me as well.
A low, surprised laugh from the Champawat Tiger. “They really didn’t know you were coming, did they?”
I shook my head.
“There really is no ambush,” he said. “You really are here just to die.”
I nodded.
He pointed a finger over my shoulder, then dragged it around until it pointed at the approaching Altaicans. “And in doing so, you bring all the members of both clans, all the surviving Rakshasa, out into the open to be butchered by my shadows.”
I heard Asena roar in the distance. I knew her keen eyesight would allow her to see me, to see what I was doing and what was about to happen; all the Rakshasa would. But they were too far away.
“How ironic it is,” Jacques said, “that you will have done more to ensure your own destruction, and to bolster my power, than I did.” His smile grew wide and triumphant and in one smooth motion he levelled his shotgun at me once again. “Any last words?”
I said nothing, merely stared directly into Jacques’s green eyes, so similar to Shade’s and Asena’s.
Jacques pulled the trigger. I felt the shock and force of the round striking me milliseconds before I heard the roar of its discharge.
The shotgun slug entered my right hip, blowing a hole the size of a penny through my body. I fell over backwards and I bled, and I bled, and I bled.
Blood gushed from the hole in a way I’d never seen blood do before. I could smell it; thick, coppery, pungent. I could smell the grass beneath me, the harsh acrid smell of gunpowder from the thin smoky trail rising from the wound, the faint smell of rain in the distance carried by a cool wind. It was going to rain soon but I’d be dead before the storm arrived.
Nineteen is an odd age to die. You’re over eighteen so you’re legally an adult, but really, you’re still just a kid. Before all of this had happened, I hung out at the local mall, went drinking with my friends and otherwise did everything I’d done at fifteen.
I was never going to be a wife. Never going to be a mother. I’d never watch another game of cricket. I’d never eat or drink anything again. I’d never walk or sing or laugh. Every single thing I was ever going to do with my life, my entire influence on this planet and the billions of people in it, was complete.
But it was okay. I was going to die to save Ishan.
Ishan. Someone I cared for with everything I had. Not just a boyfriend, an accessory, interchangeable and faceless. Ishan was my soulmate. Someone whose life was bound to mine.
My death would save him. My blood, the same blood pouring onto the grass beneath me, would be his salvation. A piece of myself, given freely.
That’s why I didn’t struggle, didn’t resist. My wound, my torn and perforated flesh, burned with deep pain, but I didn’t press my hand to the entry point. I didn’t try to hold on to life.
I heard voices. The crack of shotguns, sharp and staccato, drowned out by the thunderous roar of my fellows. The Rakshasa, my coven, leapt upon the huntsmen and tore them to shreds with their powerful claws, ripping out throats with their teeth, clawing and biting and maiming and destroying the shadows in human form. Hurting those who had hurt us.
Avenging me.
I let go. I let it all go, and I lay on my back in a growing pool of my blood, staring up at the sky as my vision drained away, and I saw the sun darken as the moon moved across it.
Then, just as Cinder had predicted, the power of the Rakshasa drained away from all of us and pooled into a single source.
Me.
27
Apotheosis
I felt the power surge through me like a thousand volts of electricity. Air filled my lungs—I inhaled through my nose, breathing in the smell of the ground where I’d fallen, basking in the scent. Gunpowder. Blood. Sweat.
Despite my wicked wound, despite Ishan’s fading light, I felt more alive than I ever had before.
My body grew, stretching my clothes to bursting. My bloody body pushed down the grass as it enlarged. The fingers of my hands bent backwards, both of my hands twisting around as they reversed, forming wide, thick paws covered in fur. I felt myself grow larger still, laid out flat on the bloodsoaked grass, breaking free of my clothes. I heard the gasps and shouts of those around me as Wraith and Rakshasa alike stood in mute shock, watching the transformation, the pitched, bloody battle momentarily forgotten.
Knowledge flooded my mind, the memories of tens of thousands of Rakshasa, a chaotic flood that threatened to overwhelm me, floating before my vision like tiny balls of light. The beacons of light that shone the most were the souls I’d touched in life; I could see Asena’s bright light floating near me, her laughing face reflected in the ball. I saw her plummet into the freezing cold water of Lake Burley Griffin, then her first transformation. I saw her tending my wounds after my arm was shredded. I saw her riding the train with me to Campbelltown.
I saw Ishan’s light. A raging thunderstorm bubbled behind him, then I saw a bolt of lightning strike him from behind, blasting the air from his lungs. But instead of dying he climbed back to his feet, staring down at hands that had brown and white tiger stripes. I saw myself, and him watching me from afar, my body covered in orange stripes as I leapt upon a kangaroo, tearing out its throat with my powerful claws. My first kill. I watched him walk towards the wind generators to give his life in exchange for mine.
And I saw Cinder, the blind prophet, as his wife lay on her death bed, breathing her last in tortured, strained gasps. Then Cinder as he greeted Asena and Ishan, talking to each in turn. I saw him watching me walk through the upper room of his house. I saw through his eyes as he saw the prophecy firsthand: the power flowing in Jacques. Four arms sprouting from his body, which he used in swift order to crush my friends and me as we stood horrified and helpless.
Then, as I stared, the scene changed again; it was daylight in his shack, but the eclipse stole the light from the cracks in his walls, his power draining away in an instant. Robbed of his immortality, his whole body crumpled to dust as the years suddenly caught up to him.
The globes faded away from my eyes. The entire clearing was bathed in red light, dark as the moon blocked out the sun… except for a strange golden hue radiating from my body.
All around me the Rakshasa, Rewa and Altaica alike, stood stunned and confused. Their bodies lacked the stripes of our kind, appearing in every way to be normal humans. The Wraiths, momentarily confused by the change but empowered by the sudden darkness, gleefully pressed the attack. The Rakshasa, robbed of their strength and speed, began to back away, suddenly fearful of their shadowy attackers.
I reached down for the ground, using my hands to help myself stand, and found my body possessed four arms instead of two. Moving these limbs, even my reversed hands, was as natural to me as breathing. Effortlessly I climbed to my feet, towering over Wraith, Rewa and Altaica alike. I was over fifteen feet tall, as large as a three-story house. My presence, impossible to ignore, drew the attention of all.
Most especially Jacques, who levelled his shotgun at me and fired the second barrel. The round bounced off my chest.
Words leapt into my mind, deep and primal and clear, and I opened my massive mouth. When I spoke it was with a voice like thunder that boomed and echoed from the nearby mountains.
“YOU STRIKE AT ME WITH YOUR WEAPON? FOOL, I HAVE BECOME DEATH, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS.”
Friend and foe alike stared up at me in a mixture of fear, awe and horror. They all seemed so small, little mortal playthings who were no more significant to me than insects.
One of the Wraiths grasped Eclipse with his ghostly, incorporeal hands. I recognised this one, the blue scars across its chest and face. It was the one who had a
ttacked me earlier. “Master,” it hissed, “what do we do?”
Jacques didn’t have an answer.
“PATHETIC SHADOWLING,” I boomed. “IN THE FACE OF MY SPLENDOUR YOU CAN DO NOTHING BUT DIE. BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE ELEVENTH AVATAR OF VISHNU, THE MAINTAINER OF ALL THINGS, THE ARCHITECT WHOSE LIGHT SHAKES THE VERY FOUNDATIONS OF THE EARTH.”
With barely a thought my body became as bright as a thousand suns bursting in the sky, a searing radiance that illuminated the darkened land like an atomic blast. The Wraiths, the shadow-stuff of their true nature unable to stand my mighty power, shrieked and blew away into black wisps, their weapons and clothes falling to the ground as the mist that formed their bodies dissipated. The surrounding mountains glowed as though made of gold, a colossal pillar of light in the darkness. For kilometres around the entire landscape was lit up and the Rakshasa around me clapped their hands to their eyes to shield themselves from the blinding flare.
All of them except Eclipse—or, as he was now, merely Jacques. A human amongst humans. As the intense light blasting from my body faded away to an ambient glow he looked at me, his eyes locked on mine, and he jabbed a finger up at my titanic form.
“You? The power went into you? But I am—but I killed you! You—you’re dead, you can’t be—”
“FOOL.” I stared at him, flexing each of my four mighty fists. “THE BODY IS MORTAL, BUT THE SOUL WITHIN IS IMMORTAL AND IMMEASURABLE.”
“I don’t care how you did it,” Jacques said, “but I’ll kill you for this.” He took a step forward, fists clenching at his sides. “The avatar of Vishnu is mine, you gutless fledgling, and I demand what I earned! It’s my heritage, it’s in my heart, and I’ve spent too many years, shed too much blood, to be denied what I so rightfully deserve!”
Meaningless words, like the crying of a petulant child. “YOUR UNDERSTANDING OF YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES IS PITIFUL. THE POWER OF THE ANCIENTS CANNOT BE STOLEN, NOT FROM SHE WHO IS THE RIGHTFUL AVATAR, THE CONDUIT OF MY POWER.” I raised one of my four arms, pointing behind him. “TURN NOW, FOOLISH MORTAL, AND FIND YOUR DEATH.”
Jacques twisted his head, glancing over his shoulder in confusion, staring right into the barrel of one of the Wraiths’ discarded shotguns, held comfortably in Hailstone’s human hands.
The gunshot echoed around the area, bouncing from hill to hill. Jacques’s body slumped down into the grass. Above me the sun began to peek out from underneath the shield of the moon, and I felt the momentary surge of power wane.
I watched as Hailstone’s hands slowly became as they had been, the white and brown stripe pattern of the Rewa. All around me the colour began to seep back into the others. Orange and black stripes grew over the Altaica members, including Asena, who stared at me with curious, fearful eyes.
They all grew larger as my borrowed strength faded away and my body shrank. The ground came closer and the Rakshasa around me grew larger, taller, as their energy flowed out from me and returned to them.
Asena approached me, now almost as tall as I was, reaching out with a striped hand, gingerly touching my arm.
“Libby?”
I didn’t know what to say to her, but a sudden pain in my hip caused me to flinch. I reached down, touching where the shotgun had wounded me, and my hand came back covered in blood.
With the power gone, my wound had returned. Apparently none of the Rakshasa powers I’d absorbed was a gift that would have healed it.
I always was afraid of blood.
My hand began to shake as I stared at it, trying to process what had happened. I felt my vision darken, as though shadows were creeping in on the sides of my eyes, and I knew my body could take no more abuse.
I pitched forward and the bloody grass raced up to meet me, and then the world slipped away.
I dreamed an empty, dreamless sleep, floating in a sea of nothing.
Sometimes I would hear things. Things I knew were happening on the outside. Faint murmurings and voices. The clink of small metal objects. The rustle of sheets. Those were the outside; they didn’t exist in my dream world, and yet I recognised them all the same.
The world in my dream was empty. No land, no sky, no trees or hills or grass or wind or clouds. It was a black empty sea in all directions, devoid of landmarks and distinguishing features; nothing but endless darkness.
Scream, cry, shout, beg, whimper… nothing could summon anything into this barren, black, lifeless void. I focused all my strength, all my energy on creating just the tiniest ray of light in this place, but it remained completely cloaked in shadow.
Was this what it was to die? Or was this existential nothingness the product of Ishan’s death? Had the eclipse disrupted our connection, torn us apart and burned this dream world to ashes?
As much as I swam through this gravity-less void, I found nothing that could answer any of the questions I had, or quieten the dread and panic in my mind.
It seemed like an eternity but eventually I heard something that caught my attention, dragging me away from the dream world I desperately wanted to search. Something that reminded me of the life I had, of the mortal coil and the things I knew there.
A faint, high-pitched squeaking.
Epilogue
Libby the Loser, Destroyer of Worlds
I woke up to the sound of mewing kittens.
I was in the Garden of Shadow, the large limestone cave network in one of the mountains near Canberra, sleeping in the same bed that I had awoken in before, after my arm had been slashed by the Champawat Tiger. Back then it was so dark I could barely see, but now, the light seemed bright and clear.
The bed they’d set up for me was centred in the middle of the room, a naturally occurring passageway within the cave network that was perfectly suited to being a bedroom.
A form slept awkwardly on a nearby chair, her head tilted so far forward I couldn’t see her face, but I recognised that haircut anywhere.
I had cut that hair myself.
“Katelyn…?”
She jerked up with a start, blinking and squinting in the dark. “Libby?”
I moved a hand from underneath the thin blanket, carefully reaching out and touching her face. “Katelyn, you’re awake…!”
“Libby, you’re awake!” She emitted a loud squeal of joy and grabbed my hand with hers, squeezing it tightly. “Holy shit, everyone’s been so worried about you!”
“Have they?” My mind felt fogged, and as I spoke I felt a slice of pain in my hip. Moving was painful. “What happened?”
“I woke up in your apartment. I was frightened, I ran… but I didn’t get far. Vriko caught me before I could make it to the cop station, then brought me here.” She smiled, relieved tears pouring down her cheeks. “It took some time, but I guess I eventually got sick of freaking out. Asena helped. She told me… everything. She said that Jacques had been keeping me asleep somehow, because I woke up right as he died.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “I thought we’d lost you.”
Katelyn smiled. “I’ve been living here since then, except for occasional runs into Canberra for supplies, especially silver. I guess they find it pretty useful to have someone who’s actually human to carry it.” She pointed over to the other side of the bed. “We brought Clintonette and the kittens, too.”
I followed her finger. A large mesh cage had been built into the side of the cave wall, and through it I could see Clintonette, cuddled up to her kittens. I nodded. “Okay,” I said, my memory foggy and hard to access. The pain in my hip grew to be quite strong as my brain started to work again. “What happened to me?”
“You got shot.” Katelyn rubbed the back of my hand with her thin fingers. “It was touch and go for a while, but the Rewa apparently had a new fledgling named Starlight. His gift has something to do with knowledge, and he happened to know enough to do basic surgery. He pretty much saved your life. Asena wasn’t happy about having him come here, though…”
The mention of Starlight caused my memory to light up like a bonfire. I grabbed Katelyn’
s shoulders. “Ishan! Where’s Ishan?!”
She yelped in pain and I let go.
“Sorry!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She rubbed her shoulders, grimacing. “I—”
A voice from the end of the cave section cut her off. “Katelyn, are you o—Libby!” Asena bounded over to me, slapping her hands on the end of the bed, smiling widely. “Hey, look who’s awake!”
I groaned weakly, reaching up and rubbing my eyes. “Yeah. I guess I got sick of sleeping.”
Asena gave a shaky smile, leaning over my bed. “So last week, huh… That was a pretty messed up day, wasn’t it?”
I tried to return the smile but my whole body hurt. I settled for not wincing in agony. “It was.”
“So how about you, huh? You’ve got quite the gift.” Her voice became sing-song. “What if Vishnu was one of uuuusssss?”
“You can’t sing.” I groaned, which stretched my stitches. “No, no, don’t make me laugh. Laughing hurts. And… don’t call me Vishnu. I’m still Libby.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Vishy.”
I gave her a derpy smile and realised why everything was so fuzzy and distant. “You’re lucky I have morphine. Morphine makes everything funny.”
Asena smiled. “I upped your dose. Otherwise it’d barely take the edge off.”
I remembered how they’d treated me when my arm was torn up. The memory of waking up in the Garden of Shadow made my smile fade slightly.
“Asena, where’s Starlight? I want to find out what happened to Ishan…”
She hesitated slightly. “Libby, you know Rewa aren’t allowed to travel here.”
I frowned, gripping the edge of my bed. “I don’t care. I want to know what happened to Ishan. You brought Starlight here to treat me, so bring Ishan here. It’s not that hard.”
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