The Lightning's Claim

by K. M. Fahy

  Catarva was at her side in an instant.

  “Where is your PCR?” she demanded, pulling Kitieri back up straight. Through her violent shaking, Kitieri lifted her eyes to Catarva’s hard amber gaze, brushing over the black straps that interrupted the white of her robes.

  “Catarva, I can’t… my hands…”

  A low, angry growl came from Catarva’s chest, and she ripped the glove from Kitieri’s hand to reveal the bloodied and yellowed bandages.

  “Fool,” she hissed. “You came out here unprotected, knowing your lightning was useless! Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  The second warning sent Kitieri to her knees, wrenching her from Catarva’s grasp and slamming her forehead into the cold cobblestones. Her only awareness of her own scream was the raw pain in the vibrations of her throat. The screaming and writhing couldn’t help her—not even the cool stones could take away the immense burn that attacked her senses, flickering to black.

  A heavy weight pushed Kitieri down, and she collapsed under the pressure. A memory—Stil’s boot on her back, stomping her to the floor…

  The cool relief of unconsciousness came for her, and her body went limp as her lightning recoiled, the burn subsiding from her arms. Her cheek was numb with cold, pressed against the street…

  Wait.

  Kitieri opened her eyes. She wasn’t unconscious. This was not the sweet, blissful blackness for which she’d longed…

  The hem of white robes swayed at the edge of her vision, and Kitieri lifted her eyes to the woman standing over her. Catarva stood with her face to the sky, arms splayed out as if in invitation. With growing horror, Kitieri realized that the black straps were gone.

  The third warning barely touched Kitieri, her lightning subdued under the influence of the Gadget now resting on her back. Catarva staggered, her strangled cry ringing in Kitieri’s ears as understanding dawned.

  A sacrifice.

  “Catarva,” she croaked. Her voice refused to speak at full volume, and she pushed up under the weight of the Gadget.

  “Don’t,” Catarva ground out, flicking her long fingers in Kitieri’s direction. Gravity overpowered her, slamming Kitieri back to the ground. With great effort, she lifted her head just enough to see Catarva back away.

  Just enough to watch the blue bolt set the night sky ablaze, unstoppable in its fury.

  With a blinding flash, the Blue Killer came for its victim, and the white robes disappeared.

  Chapter 20

  “Catarva!”

  The force pulling Kitieri to the ground vanished, and she threw the Gadget from her back as she launched herself to her feet.

  The white robes were gone; all that remained was a pile of black ashes, tendrils of fine smoke rising into the night. Kitieri skidded to her knees at the corpse’s side, clapping one hand over her mouth in horror.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, gods, what did I do? She’s dead. She’s dead.” She bent forward over the ashes, eyes squeezed closed as unbidden tears leaked out the corners.

  Why would she do that? Why did she sacrifice herself for me? I can’t do this alone. I—

  A rustle in the ashes snapped Kitieri’s head up, and a subsequent groan sent her scrambling backwards. Bright amber eyes opened beneath the layers of dark soot, and Catarva coughed.

  “What the fuck?” Kitieri shrieked, the words all blurring into one high-pitched yelp. “Catarva? You’re… alive?”

  The ashes shifted, and the black, flakey remnants of the robe slid off Catarva’s dark shoulders.

  “May I borrow your cloak, Kitieri?”

  Kitieri blinked several times, mouth open in shock, before she managed to comply. She draped the garment over Catarva’s body, forcing herself to meet the unnerving gaze.

  “How are you alive?” she whispered. “I saw the Strike take you. No one could survive that.”

  Catarva closed her eyes, rolling her head away from Kitieri with a sigh.

  “I came out here to speak with you,” she said, her voice dry and raspy, “because it was time for me to be honest.” She coughed. “To come clean about who I am. But I guess a firsthand demonstration is as good as any explanation.”

  With a grimace, she pushed herself up to a sitting position under the cloak, and Kitieri put out her hands. “Whoa, you should probably stay down.”

  Catarva waved her away. “I’m fine,” she said. “It just takes a moment to recover.”

  “You’ve been… struck before?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Catarva sighed. “A few times, in the early days of the Blue Killer. I found that it was so drawn to me that merely stepping foot outdoors could trigger its onset, so I took to staying inside as much as possible. That Strike just now was likely my doing, but I didn’t know you would leave the Church unprotected.”

  She shot her a hard look, and Kitieri bowed her head as her shame wrestled with burning curiosity.

  “Why do you trigger the Strikes?” she asked. “And how in the hells do you survive them?”

  Catarva grinned. “Because the lightning is meant for the gods.”

  Kitieri stared for a moment, one cheek scrunched in confusion, before her eyes opened wide. She fell back out of her crouched position, catching herself with one gloved hand. Her burn wounds bit with a painful flare, and she sucked in a hissing breath as she pulled her hand out from under her, rolling onto her shoulder.

  “You’re not telling me…” She stuttered as the words caught. “You’re not… a… y-you’re a god? You’re… Enahris?”

  Catarva’s grin widened, and she laughed.

  “No. I’m not Enahris,” she said. “I’m only half-god. Enahris is my mother.”

  Kitieri’s air rushed from her lungs as if she’d been punched in the gut.

  “This is insane,” she muttered to herself. “This isn’t real. Gods aren’t real.”

  “I assure you, they are.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Just because you don’t see them, Kitieri, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Then where are they?” Kitieri flung one arm out, gesturing to the still darkness around them as she got to her feet. “Do they even care what’s happening here? Do they care that people are dying, and it’s going to keep getting worse?”

  Catarva’s expression turned melancholy. “They don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, they don’t know?” Kitieri snapped. “Aren’t gods supposed to know everything?”

  Catarva took a deep breath. “You must understand, Kitieri, that they exist on an entirely different plane than we do. While, yes, they are meant to be responsible for the world to which they are bonded, that would demand their presence and attention. I gather that it requires great amounts of energy for them to take our form and walk among us, so they choose not to. It’s more convenient for them to remain in their own realm, blissfully unaware of the troubles of mortals, even when those troubles are their doing. Would you mind helping me up?”

  She reached out a hand, and Kitieri reflexively started to offer her own before the bandages caught her eye and she jerked it back. “I—uh…”

  Catarva waited expectantly, hand still outstretched. “Please?”

  Kitieri glanced down at the bloody bandages.

  “Do you remember what I asked of you when we made our alliance?” Catarva asked.

  “I will answer all your questions when the time is right, but until that time, I need you to trust me.”

  Biting down on her bottom lip, Kitieri braced herself for the excruciating pain and extended her hand.

  She felt the pressure of Catarva’s grip and tensed her body as weight pulled against her, but felt no objection from her burns. She dared to open one eye to see Catarva standing before her, taller and more intimidating than ever before draped in the black cloak instead of her signature white, their hands still locked in a tight grip.

  When Catarva released her, the hand that Kitieri pulled back felt completely different from her other.
She tested it, touching the soaked bandages, and felt nothing.

  “What did you do?” she whispered, unsure whether to feel horrified or ecstatic. “I can’t feel it. I can’t feel my arm.”

  Catarva watched silently as Kitieri ripped off the bandages, unwrapping them from her elbow to her fingers. As the soiled strips fell to the ground, Kitieri gaped at her arm.

  Where she’d expected oozing wounds, she saw new, white skin, still streaked with the blood, salve, and pus that had soaked into the bandages before their removal.

  “How…” She ran her fingers from her wrist to her elbow, feeling the slight tickle where there should have been melted, mangled flesh.

  “One of the better traits I inherited from my mother.” Catarva smiled. “Your other is burned, too, correct?”

  She offered her hand again, and Kitieri took it without hesitation this time. She closed her eyes as the incessant pain receded under the glove and wrappings, traveling up her arm to heal all of the minor burns Stil’s fire had inflicted. As the heat left her body, Kitieri released a long sigh of relief and gratitude.

  “Thank you.”

  “Well,” Catarva replied, tilting her head, “what is a lightning without her element, after all? Come.”

  As Catarva turned for the Church, Kitieri fell into step beside her. “So, you haven’t… uh… told Enahris about the lightning?”

  Catarva scoffed. “If I could, I would. My mortal blood keeps me bound to this realm, and her increased absence is a direct result of my existence. She had me for one reason only—to lead the Church in her stead. I was seven years old the last time I saw her. That was the day she announced to the Board that I would take over as Baliant when I came of age at fifteen.”

  “Ah.” That explained Amadora’s unseating. Kitieri smirked at the thought of her unholy outrage at a fifteen-year-old demoting her to Chief Advisor.

  “By no means was my appointment standard practice,” Catarva continued. “Baliants and Chief Advisors are voted in by the Board as lifetime appointments, so you can imagine the uproar my situation caused. But all my mother told me was to keep the balance. She kept repeating it, over and over, as if it was the only worry or responsibility a Baliant should have.”

  Right, the riddle… “What balance?” Kitieri asked.

  Catarva’s features tensed in the furthest reach of the Square’s light.

  “The balance of the Churches,” she said. “Even the gods have laws, and the law of balance rules their realm. With such a small inhabitable portion, our world only has two bonded gods, but there are worlds out there with five, ten, or even twenty gods. The rule of balance keeps them working in harmony, and prevents the wars of the past from ever happening again.”

  “Whoa,” Kitieri said, putting out a hand to stop further explanation. “There are other worlds?”

  Catarva chuckled. “Yes. Many of them. Mortals are restricted to the world on which they were born, but thousands are out there, and they all have bonded gods to rule and care for them. It is their divine responsibility, but gods can be… volatile beings. The law of balance was established to ensure that no one god could overthrow the others, thus taking control of an entire world for themselves, and their Churches are their mortal measurement.”

  Kitieri’s head spun with the information. It still felt so impossible, like some big, elaborate joke. But not a shred of humor graced Catarva’s features as the corners of her lips pulled down with worry.

  “What if they don’t keep the balance?” Kitieri asked.

  “You’re seeing it,” Catarva replied, gesturing to the sky.

  “The lightning?” Kitieri’s eyes followed Catarva’s gesture.

  “Yes,” Catarva said. “Like I said, the lightning was meant to affect the gods. It’s a punishment for the imbalance, a warning that things have gone awry. One Church is stronger than the other.” A frustrated sound emanated from her throat. “I would go to the hells and back if I thought it would help me fix it. My mother thought leaving me in her place would ensure peace and balance, but she could not have been more wrong. Amadora has fought me relentlessly since the day I took the Baliant’s seat, and turned the Board against me. Every decision I made, she challenged. It broke our Church, cracked our foundation, and left us weaker than the Church of Histan. That’s what triggered the lightning, but the punishment meant for them is only killing the mortals under their charge.”

  “Then…” Kitieri swallowed. “If you’re half-god… why didn’t you get rid of Amadora earlier? You could have, I don’t know, used your powers or something.”

  “I could have,” Catarva said, nodding, “but the game of politics is dark and complex. My first responsibility was always to keep the balance for fear of dire consequences, and I needed Amadora’s power. Don’t forget that I was only fifteen at the time, and I wanted the position no more than Amadora wanted me to have it. I was terrified that if I removed my Chief Advisor, who was still seen by many as Enahris’ Baliant, I would break the balance. By the time I’d grown into my position, the damage was done and the Church was stuck with her.”

  Catarva released a long, shaky sigh. “I failed in the only purpose my life has ever had. I could not accomplish what my mother expected, but that does not mean this is over. I have a responsibility to my people, many of whom I have already failed to save. But if I can save them moving forward, I will do it, no matter what it takes.”

  Kitieri chewed the corner of her lip, taking in the information in silence. Catarva’s palpable emotion tugged at her heart, and though she longed to comfort the woman, she had no idea where to start. Catarva was right; all they could do was move forward.

  “How do we do that, then?” she asked.

  Catarva lifted her chin, and the proud shape returned to her shoulders under the black cloak.

  “That’s where you come in,” she said. “They say that the Blue Killer always takes a victim, right?”

  “Yes?” Kitieri frowned.

  “What happens when it doesn’t?”

  “You mean… when I repel it?”

  “Exactly.” Catarva stopped at the base of the Church stairs. “Never have I met a lightning with such an ability. The only thing that explains it is the way your lightning must have developed under lock. Where most could never regain their control once the Strikes started, yours adapted. It actually learned from the Blue Killer while in lock, syncing with it in some way that I never thought possible. And now, you are the only one capable of wielding our link to the gods.”

  Kitieri blinked. She’d never put much thought into why her lightning behaved the way it did, but Catarva’s confidence in her control made her nervous. Whatever Catarva expected of her, she hoped she’d be able to deliver…

  “How is it a link to the gods?” she asked, skirting the topic.

  Catarva’s knowing grin set Kitieri’s nerves further on edge. “When the lightning does not claim a victim, it hits the gods. And it hurts. If my experience is anything like what they feel, they will have to take notice sooner or later.”

  “Wait, it hurts you when I repel a Strike?” Kitieri asked, suddenly conscious of every bolt she’d spurned.

  “I feel all of them,” Catarva replied. “It knocked me down the first time, the day you survived your Judgement. I know my mother feels it, too.”

  Kitieri nodded slowly as the pieces started to click into place.

  “That’s why you need me,” she whispered. “I can get their attention.”

  “Yes.” Before Catarva lowered her eyes to the ground, Kitieri caught their flash of pain. “But it’s a desperate attempt. My greatest hope—and it’s a long shot—is that by speaking with Tiernan, we can begin to take steps toward righting the balance. Stil has refused to let me anywhere near him, but now that he’s busy warmongering and you’re standing beside me, we have a chance. Until then, I need you to repel as many Strikes as you can. Maybe, in some convoluted way, we can pull off a miracle.”

  Before Kitieri could reply, a shri
ek sounded from the south side of the Church and she twisted to look over her shoulder.

  “The south gate,” Catarva said, starting for the echoing sound. As they rounded the corner, Kitieri saw Haldin physically blocking the south gate with his spear as a figure in a long magenta cloak barked, and her heart jumped into her throat.

  Amadora.

  “You cannot stop me!” The shrill words became audible as Kitieri and Catarva drew near. “I have a right to enter this Church! I want Ghentrin here right now!”

  “He’s already on his way,” Haldin replied. “Until then—ah, Baliants.” He dipped into a low bow at their approach, and Amadora turned with a malicious snarl.

  “Catarva,” she screeched. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “What I should have done years ago.” Catarva’s low voice moved like velvet, but cut like steel.

  Amadora sneered. “Your power here is a farce, and everyone knows it. I run this Church.”

  “You used to,” Catarva countered.

  Amadora sniffed. “That didn’t change the day you usurped my seat. A child has no place in such a role.” She leaned in, baring her teeth. “Not even the child of a god.”

  Catarva breathed in slowly, her chest rising.

  “Lineage means nothing,” she said. “A miner’s daughter has proven herself a more capable leader than you could ever hope to be.”

  Shock and hatred flashed across Amadora’s features, and her beady eyes flicked to Kitieri. Fully aware of her visible Baliant’s crest and attire, Kitieri watched with satisfaction as the Chief Advisor turned bright red in the gate’s lamplight.

  “This is despicable,” she spat. “You have no Church—how dare you wear that crest? You are a disgrace to the title of Baliant—you both are!”

  Kitieri stepped forward, boots crunching on the loose stones scattered across the path, and her lightning skittered down her healed arms as anger flushed her neck and face. The cold darkness of her solitary confinement came rushing back, and she heard Amadora’s words echo through her memory, condemning her. Condemning Haldin. Condemning her siblings to the heartbreak of another abandonment. She remembered the woman’s smug, hateful smile as she’d sent her far underground, never to see the light of day again. Sparks flew from Kitieri’s fingers, and she stepped in so close to Amadora’s face that the woman leaned back, fear flashing in her eyes.