“What was that! What did you do to me? Where did you send me?” The questions spilled from his mouth like a thunderclap.
“Only what you asked of me,” Lucindur said, panting.
Whitney noticed he was clenching his eyes and opened them. Everything looked as it had just moments ago, before he was cast into that awful place within Sora’s mind. Almost. Aquira cowered behind a gravestone, peaking around at Lucindur, eyes bright with terror. Lucindur herself no longer seemed calm. She squeezed her temples between her thumb and index finger. She went to move, but fell to her knee, her leg’s shaking, breathing heavy. She winced as if enduring the worst headache imaginable.
She reached into a small pouch and produced a pinch of a dark substance, then shoved it in her pipe. Whitney realized it was what he thought was night-blooming jasmine. As if she saw him looking, she said, “Manaroot. Helps the mind focus. Far better when inhaled than eaten. Far less potent.”
She offered Whitney a puff, and he obliged. Immediately, he felt a sense of calm wash over him, and he could remember everything with clarity. Lucy leaned back against a headstone and stretched her eyelids, still short of breath. As she did, she retrieved a red apple from her belongings and took a bite. This, she didn’t offer Whitney. He was starving now but felt too sick to put food down anyway.
“Sorry,” she said, mouth full. “Doing that leaves a pit in my stomach. Feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”
“Whatever you need,” Whitney said. He leaned up and found Aquira now at his side, growling low at Lucindur. “It’s okay, girl,” he said, patting her snout. “It wasn’t her. She’s safe.”
“I’ve never experienced anything like that,” Lucindur said. “Your friend was resisting with unbelievable power. If I held on any longer…” She gestured to her instrument. Two of the strings had snapped, and a crack ran down the bottom.
“Lucindur, I’m sorry…” Whitney said.
“Don’t be, it will take some mending, but I made a promise.” She took another bite of the apple. “Tell me everything.”
“Sora said it was cold. Then, I’m not sure.
“Cold?” Lucindur asked. “The far north? Brek? What would she be doing there if she’s with what remains of the mystics?”
“I don’t know. But she’s not okay. I’ve never seen her so terrified. Told me never to try and find her.”
“The bending of mind and sight can be incredibly unnerving for those unaware,” Lucindur said. “Perhaps she was confused?”
“No, it wasn’t that. She knew what was going on, but we weren’t alone. She… the Buried Goddess. Sora said she was being possessed.
Lucindur closed her eyes and took another drag from her pipe, then passed it to Whitney. “I feared something like this. Nothing good comes from that tower and trifling with magics beyond our mortal understanding invites demons from Elsewhere. Tricksters with false dreams of grandeur.”
“No, it was her. Nesilia. I’ve felt her presence before, but that was in Elsewhere, this… I don’t know.”
“Whitney, do you realize what you’re saying? You should rest, reflect on it. Lightmancing can distort perspective. It can take time for the experience to settle.”
“It’s like she’s a prisoner of her own mind and Nesilia is in control,” Whitney said, ignoring Lucindur. “She said something about being ‘stuck between realms.’” His words slowed as he said them, and his gaze fixated on the half-eaten apple in Lucindur’s hand.
“Ah, my apologies,” she said. “That must be it. The effects can be taxing on the subject as well. You must be starving. Here.” She started digging through her belongings. Aquira now felt comfortable enough to crawl right up to her a silently beg for a snack.
“It’s not that,” Whitney said.
She glanced up. “Are you sure?”
Whitney swallowed hard. “Stuck between realms,” he repeated.
“Elsewhere is the realm between, where souls linger for eternity. The gods created our world to test us, and live in their own; one our souls shall never see. What the followers of Iam may call the Light, but we never get there, Whitney. No human can. Elsewhere is the eternal puzzle. Those who learned enough here in Pantego can create a place of eternal peace, and those who didn’t shall imagine their own nightmare for all time.”
“I’ve been to Elsewhere, for a long time,” Whitney said. “I made peace, but this place… is so much more fun.”
“You’ve what?” Her brow furrowed.
“It doesn’t matter. But I know Elsewhere, and that wasn’t where she was. She’s somewhere else, between, and she’s right. I can’t do anything for her.”
“Those who push the boundaries of our worlds too far, sometimes they cannot be retrieved.” Lucindur slid closer and laid her hand upon his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Whitney. Perhaps it’s time to move on?”
“Move on? You’re not listening to me.” Whitney snatched the apple out of her hand and stared at the shiny, red skin. He pictured Kazimir, sitting on his parent’s fence, crunching on an apple like it was a human heart.
“Whitney, I must eat.”
“Oh, right.” He tossed the apple back to her, forcing her to catch it unexpectedly. Then he stood and walked a few paces away. He got woozy and had to lean against a tree.
“I told you, you need rest.”
I need you to do me one more favor,” Whitney said, looking back at her.
“What kind of favor?”
“I need you to find one more person for me,” Whitney said. “Well, sort of a person.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” She raised her damaged instrument. “I need new strings, perhaps a new salfio entirely.”
“So, we’ll get them.”
“These are made from the cocoons of lightnettle worm larvae. Their blood glows, and they’re found only in caverns far below the Dragon’s Tail. Very rare, but it takes such rarity such as that to channel my abilities.”
“Where’d you get that salfio then?”
“A dwarvish curiosities trader in Panping, decades ago when I was researching our lost art.”
Whitney couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” Lucindur asked, no longer amused.
“It’s just that... I guess traveling to Panping wasn’t a mistake. You think the trader is still there? We were planning to stop in Panping on the way to Myen anyway. It’s the only reason I came along. Won’t be out of the way.”
“Trust me, even if we found the shop, you can’t afford it. The entire troupe can’t. It took all the inheritance left to me by my parents to purchase it—jewelry, books, everything.”
“Don’t worry about a price. I have a few things hidden in the city that should be able to fetch us some shogging, glowing salfio strings.” Panping was the largest city east of the Gorge. He’d spent plenty of time there working for a fence in his younger years, then alone—enough time to hide some scores here and there for just a situation like this. Well, sort of like this. Assuming nobody else found them by now of course.
Lucindur shot him a cross glare.
“You know what I mean.” Whitney bit his lip. “Look, I know this is all you promised, but Sora is in real trouble. I know someone who might be able to help her.”
“Possessions are nothing to be trifled with. Maybe what you need is a priest.”
Whitney waved at her in dismissal. “Not a shogging priest. Lucindur, I saved yours and your daughter’s lives. I don’t want to keep pulling that card, but it’s true. Two lives, two favors. Then I’ll never ask anything of you again. Shog in a yigging barrel, you can even keep the change of what we sell and use it to rebuild the Troupe.”
“What could possibly be worth that much?”
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise. If I’m wrong, then it’s no big deal, and we go our separate ways. But if I’m right, all you do is benefit. Get a little richer, all for practicing some magic.”
“It’s not just magic. Every time, I pour a shred of my essence into th
e song. And when I do, there are others who might hear beyond the target. Demons—like that which possesses your friend—mystics, twisted creatures of darkness might all be called to me. Lightmancers are few for a reason, Whitney. Once was a favor, and a reason to flex my powers lest I forget how. Twice so soon… dangerous.”
“The mystic order is gone now. It will be fine.” Whitney hurried closer and dropped to her knees beside her. Aquira hopped up atop a grave beside him and stared at Lucindur with her big, pretty eyes. “Please, Lucindur. This may be her only shot, and it’s all I can think of.”
Lucindur’s face scrunched up in thought. After a moment she blurted, “All right, fine! If you find a way to afford the right strings…”
“And make the Troupe rich,” Whitney added.
Lucindur rolled her eyes. “Yes. You do that, and I’ll help you. But then I think it’s time I put the salfio down for good. Demons posing as goddesses, possessed princes and mystics… it’s too dangerous now.”
Whitney clutched her face and planted a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes went wide with shock. Aquira jumped down and nuzzled against her leg. “Thank you!’ Whitney exclaimed. “Then it’s settled. We’ll pack up and head straight for Panping. Better than staying in this graveyard anyway.”
“Please don’t make me regret this, Whitney.”
“You won’t. You’re alive, and Sora is too. We can fix all of this.”
Lucindur retrieved her broken instrument and slung it over her shoulder. “Who is this mysterious person you want me to find, anyway?”
Whitney smirked, then scooped up Aquira. “An old friend, right girl? And the only man I know who is neither of Pantego or Elsewhere.”
XLIII
THE MYSTIC
“Sora…” Whitney wrapped his hands around her shoulder, and for a moment she thought she could feel the warmth of his touch. “I do love you. You know I do. I’m going to find and help you. No matter what.”
She stared straight into his green eyes. He was more handsome than she even remembered, and more dashing. Like a lovable rogue out of a fairy tale, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. She snapped out of it.
“No,” she said. “Whitney, listen to me. No! You must stop looking.”
“The only thing you will find is a grave!” Nesilia roared.
Sora’s vision flashed back to the tundra, and she saw through her physical eyes again. She tried to call out for Whitney but couldn’t. Everything was blurry and red. She was talking but had no idea what she was saying. Warlocks and Drav Cra closed in all around her. She resisted and returned to her mind, then back to the tundra, then her mind, seeing Whitney flicker as if he was little more than a silhouette.
“It’s so cold,” Sora said when her vision stopped tearing. She was on her knees, clutching her own arms but unable to feel them. “Whitney, it’s so cold. Run, please run…”
She could hear Whitney again, but only in snippets. “Br—Br—Where—mountains? Drav Cra?”
“Yes,” Sora said upon hearing the last word. Just speaking made her head feel like it was going to burst open.
“Which one?”
“My body is there… but my mind. I’ve—killed so many, Whitney.”
“That’s enough, children,” Nesilia spoke, calmly now. “It’s my turn.”
Sora screamed and pulled her hair. “Get out. Get out. Get out!”
Aquira roared, but Sora couldn’t see her anymore. Whitney spoke, but his voice blurred, mending in with Nesilia’s. Nowhere overwhelmed Sora again. She screamed. She pounded her head against the ground, wherever the ground was. An instant later, she was back in Drav Cra, looking through her own eyes, Rathgorah before her.
Nesilia had reclaimed control of her body, and Sora could only watch. Nesilia’s fingers squeezed the blood dirt beneath her. A grin played at the corner of her lips. She raised her hand, and Sora could feel all the power of Elsewhere—or whatever it was gods drew on—crackling at her fingertips.
Rathgorah tried to hold her down, but her rage at having been overcome by Sora’s connection to Whitney was insurmountable. The skull on Rathgorah’s staff cracked, then blew open, sending him and anyone else nearby flying away.
“How could you all have forgotten me!” she screamed. “Can’t you feel me? Failures!”
Only rasps for air responded until Tihabat Dagson shouted, “Stop fighting!”
Nesilia hadn’t bothered with the children, and the girl took it upon herself to jump on the rope connected to Freydis. She pulled with all her weight, breaking custom as her people had with Sahades. Nesilia released her grasp of the nonbelievers. They all gasped and spun toward the girl. There was silence until a shrill cry broke through.
Legs came first, then a torso and arms. Finally, Freydis screamed, “No!” She rolled over, coughing up dirt as her eyes seemed to adjust to being able to see anything. “I was not done. I remained.”
“I said she would tear you all asunder,” Nesilia said. She glanced toward Wvenweigard and smiled.
“Tihabat Dagson,” Rathgorah wheezed. “What have you done?”
Even as Rathgorah questioned the girl, a few of Haral’s men rushed to the rope to which Kotlkel Dagson was attached. At the same time, Gold Grin and his men used the chaos to quietly attempt to crawl away until a dire wolf noticed and blocked their path.
“Nice dog,” Gold Grin tittered nervously.
“Stop this!” Rathgorah cried out while his people raised Kotlkel. “The Listeners have not spoken yet. Stop this!” Rathgorah’s eyes snapped toward Tihabat. “And you!”
“Did what we asked of her,” Haral said. “We could not allow Freydis, another Ruuhar to become Arch Warlock. Crucify the witch. Crucify Freydis! I’m pleading. End Redstar’s corruption!” Haral drew her spear and charged at Nesilia.
Rathgorah released an audible sound of frustration. Sora felt her heart quickening, felt Nesilia stirring. Felt strength. Unimaginable strength as if Freydis’ return triggered something in the goddess. Sora’s body began to rise, much like it had on the Reba.
Nesilia crossed her arms, and a sharp crack split the ground beneath Haral, and the earth swallowed her up along with the men nearest to her. The broken Glass Crown was caught in the fissure and plummeted into the blackness.
Nesilia then softly lowered herself, as if the act took no energy. She turned and glared at the gathered crowd, her very look making them shrink away. Gold Grin stared at her, awestruck. Nesilia raised a fist, and Rathgorah and every other soul in the crowd who even thought to harm her collapsed to their knees, gasping for air as she crushed their throats.
“Don’t…” Sora fought through the emptiness to tell Nesilia. All this time being trapped in her head, she’d thought Nesilia to be pure evil, but it took her reaction to Sora and Whitney’s bond for Sora to realize… she was just sad. Lonely. Nesilia was that pitiable being Sora had seen through the Aihara Na’s power on the first day she’d arrived in Panping. And she wasn’t seducing Gold Grin to feel what sex was like for humans… she did it to try and understand the connection she’d lost. She did it to make Iam jealous, if he was anywhere out there watching, he remained silent.
“This has nothing to do with him!” Nesilia responded to Sora.
“Kotlkel is dead!” someone shouted over the gagging of Nesilia’s victims. Hearing those words drew her attention, and she released them all. Wvenweigard ran to Kotlkel’s half-buried body and pulled it all the way free while Haral’s men struggled to breathe. The man’s skin was white as Loutis. Wvenweigard pressed his ear to Kotlkel’s chest, then his chin sank.
“He’s been dead for hours,” Wvenweigard said. “The listener lied to us.”
Tihabat’s gaze darted from side to side. Nesilia hadn’t choked her, but her breathing was rapid as if she had. She went to run, but before Nesilia could do anything, Freydis leaped at the girl, tore the knife off her belt, and carved a hole in her throat. Tihabat crumpled in the hole left by Kotlkel’s corpse.
Freydis
turned to the others, panting like a wild animal. Nobody approached her. They only watched in awe. “I remained, me!” she said. “I am Redstar’s will.”
“My Lady,” Oracle Rathgorah said, staggering forward. “By the earth, it is you. Forgive my lack of faith.” He fell to his knees at her feet. Hundreds in the crowd around them did the same, warlocks, warriors… nearly everyone.
“I should tear out your throat!” Freydis snarled. She cut her hand and darted at him. In a blink, Nesilia was between them and extended her arm to stop her.
“I can handle this, daughter.” Nesilia looked down at Rathgorah. “Faith only exists for those who have not already seen the truth. I have been absent too long, and it is clear you have corrupted my hands. So, I must wash them.”
With her words, Nesilia snapped her fingers as she promised she would. The trees themselves cast down sharp branches and pierced the hearts of every warlock, new and old, all those who had endured the Earthmoot and risen alive. She spared only the remaining children, Freydis, and Wvenweigard.
Sora fought but could do nothing. She wasn’t sure why she cared that the Drav Cra warlocks were dead, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being party to more death.
“No…” Rathgorah said, horrified as the screams continued to sound all around them. “No, my Lady, this can’t be your will. It can’t be!”
Nesilia knelt and traced her finger through one of the characters inscribed into the old man’s body. “I created you to remember me, but it is clear you have forgotten. This haven, it made you soft.”
“My Lady, I see now. My eyes... though they are, they still see. Stop this madness.”
Nesilia turned to Wvenweigard, who stood, patting his chest as if he was surprised to still be living. “Your faith has saved you, child,” she said. She opened her palm, and a dagger rose from the ground and flew into it. She placed it in Wvenweigard’s hand. “Now prove it.” She nodded toward the Oracle.
Way of Gods Page 57
