Once everyone’s gathered in the convocation room, everyone takes brief turns welcoming back the only sliver of hope they’ve had since this nightmare began. They’re undoubtedly different since Sloane saw them last, souls without peace. It would be impossible for them to be unchanged after what Esht’s done. No one would ever say it aloud, but Erim knows what her return truly means to some of them. Now that Esht has what he wants, maybe sacrificing her will stop his wave of terrorism. Erim will never know because that’s only happening over his dead, dead body.
“I’m so sorry that Esht’s done all of this because of me,” Sloane begins. The room’s response is silence.
“Where have you been?” Nafisa asks, her tone blatant. Erim holds his tongue not to snap at her.
“I was being held on Earth against my will,” Sloane says.
“By who?” Nafisa shrugs, eyeing Sloane for any slip-up. The other Soul Keepers look at her, wary of the tension.
Sloane is silent for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she says. Her response surprises Erim. He would’ve thrown accusations around impulsively, told everyone about Sisiro. But Sloane’s decision is more calculated. She knows that some Soul Keepers may not believe her; it could divide people when they need to be united most. She wants to keep their attention on the most critical villain for now.
“Well, that’s convenient.” Nafisa snorts. “How did you manage to escape?”
Erim’s jaw stiffens. “Back off, Nafisa,” he recommends loudly. Her eyes narrow on him.
Somboon puts a mediating hand up. “Kindness begins with understanding that we all struggle.” He looks around the table. “Sloane has endured her own hardships this past month.” Nafisa shifts in her chair, choosing to keep her sour mouth sealed.
“I’m grateful you’re back safe, Sloane.” Ophelia nods. “So we can end this together.”
Erim wasn’t sure Ophelia would come. The dawn is breaking on her terrarum’s night. But she’s here, hardened and ready to do whatever it takes.
Ophelia is many years ahead of Erim, so they never really interacted until his inauguration. Still, she’s there in the background of some of his earliest memories. He always thought she was so beautiful; her smile could captivate anyone. Of course, she looks different now. Her beauty hasn’t been spared by what’s happened. Soul Keeper faces may not age, but her skin is tight like it’s stretched too thin across her cheekbones, and her mouth is permanently pressed into a flat line. Her eyes sag now; they used to shine.
Kazue lays out the map of his terrarum. “Tomorrow’s target is Lapidis.”
“He’s been following creation order exactly?” Sloane asks.
“Like clockwork.” Erim nods.
“Then that’s where we’ll be.”
“We’ll evacuate the citizens at first light,” Kazue says.
“What if he finds out?” Aditi asks. “What’s to stop him from attacking somewhere else while we’re there?”
“Me,” Sloane says. “He’ll come for me.”
Kazue gives them a brief tour of the Lapidis map, and Bastian suggests division into battalions. There is a lengthy discussion on how to best use the geological features and Kazue’s abilities to their advantage. But eventually, there aren’t any more adjustments that can better the plan when dealing with someone as fickle as Esht. The convocation disperses to rest and prepare their warriors.
Sloane insists that she and Erim make one more stop before they turn in.
The doors to Sofia’s theater are locked; she’s asleep. It takes Sloane and Erim a lot of yelling and banging on the door to wake her. When she finally answers and sees Sloane, she pulls her into a hug full of curse words. The relief that her cousin is safe lasts about two minutes until she learns what’s happening next.
“Wow,” she says, moving closer to her stage. “I really thought you were smarter than every pinhead, death-eager idiot in every movie ever made.”
“Sofia—”
“Oh no, you don’t get to ‘Sofia’ me.” She laughs dryly. “I could feel the death on you that day, you know. You were black with it, reeked of it. I tried to protect you, but did you listen? No, of course not. That would be too easy. Then when you got here, Erim gave you a chance to get your life back, but you didn’t take it. And now, you’ve finally escaped a month of being chained to a goddamn radiator, just so you can waltz right into this maniac’s trap?” Sloane averts her gaze, without defense.
Erim puts a hand out to calm Sofia. “I think—”
“Shut up,” Sofia snaps. “You don’t pay me enough to reason with lunatics.” Erim clamps his mouth closed.
Sloane steps in to shield him. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I really am. But these are my people now. It’s my responsibility, and this is the only way. We’re out of time.”
“Sloane, you don’t even have anything to kill this psycho with,” Sofia points out shrilly. “He slit his own throat in front of me and then walked out the front door.” Erim and Sloane exchange a look. That’s not a thought that’s escaped either of them.
“We have the numbers,” Sloane says, “and everything to lose.”
“Everyone’s going to give it everything they have,” Erim agrees.
Sofia glares at him and then back at Sloane with a huff. “Sloane, if you die on me again, I will venture out into the world, find the cure for death, and bring you back to life with Voodoo witchcraft, just so I can kill you all over again.”
Sloane is silent as she and Erim walk back to their quarters. When they reach her door, Erim can see the exhaustion finally sinking into her eyes. “Never thought I’d miss the times when the most stressful part of my day was a midterm or a swim competition.” She smiles wryly, stepping into her room. “Goodni—”
Erim reaches out to catch the door. “Oh, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m sleeping with you tonight.”
“What?”
“No, I don’t mean sleeping with you.” He clears his throat, removing his hand from the door. “What I meant was I’m sleeping on your couch.”
“No.”
“Yep.”
“No, you’re not.” Sloane laughs.
He straightens up. “If you don’t let me sleep on your couch, I’m going to cram my body into this doorway, which I guarantee will be much more uncomfortable.” She doesn’t budge. He shrugs carelessly. “Maybe I don’t get enough sleep. Maybe I’m too tired during the fight tomorrow, and it gets me killed. Maybe the guilt haunts you forever.” He sighs. “Or maybe, you can just let me sleep on the couch.”
Sloane squints at him, allowing him to inch past her into the room. Nim is reluctant to enter. “You don’t need to protect me, you know.”
“Protect you?” Erim gasps. “I would never dream of doing that!”
“Really.” Sloane grins. “After the serket incident, I’m basically Spiderman. I can take care of myself.” Naturally, Erim has no idea who Spiderman is. Sloane groans at his blank stare. “I’ll explain it later.”
“It’s simply logistical,” Erim says, flopping onto her sofa. “If Esht attacks you, I’ll be able to run and warn the others.” She throws him her unconvinced face. He throws up his hands, trying to look serious. “I promise, I’ll turn tail and run. I’ll leave you two to duke it out on your own.” He flashes her a grin. “Cross my heart.”
Sloane rolls her eyes at him but can’t hold back a smile. “You’re definitely not using that saying right,” she mutters. “And you better not snore.”
QUADRAGINTA
Now, Gilman has a few ideas about what to do with idle hands. He can paint, make food, climb, splash water, and tag.
For Gilman’s first few days in this new place, Lady Caretaker would only leave his meals in the room. But after Gilman helped her clean the spilled paints, she began to spend whole days with him. She fixed the painful light with special glass eye covers that dim the sun. But Gilman’s days seemed to drag out without any labor, so he asked Lady Caretaker for permission to clea
n. She brought him a bucket and mop but suggested that she fill his day with other things instead. She always made him choose things for himself, and it always made his head hurt. He accepted Lady Caretaker’s offer of other activities, rationalizing it by telling himself that’s what she wanted. Then, it was more like she made the decision instead of him.
She showed him how to paint, read him stories, and asked about what he remembered before the prison. All Gilman’s memories from before are blurry and jumbled. So, he told her that he did not remember anything.
The first time Lady Caretaker took him out of his room, she took him to a nearby pool to wash. Gilman was in awe of the water, so clear that he could see through it. It reminded him of a time when he saw water like that every day; it was big and wide and blue. It rocked him as he mended nets with his father. He told Lady Caretaker that, and she smiled. Gilman liked making her smile. He panicked when he stepped in, and the dirt off his skin clouded the water, but Lady Caretaker assured him it was alright. He liked sitting in the pool.
Every day, Gilman would watch the children playing outside the window of his room. They ran around and screamed but didn’t look afraid. He would duck every time one would look over. One day, Lady Caretaker took him out into the garden and asked for his help picking flowers. He loved having a task to devote himself to, so he went to work picking as fast as he could, determined to get her as many flowers as possible. The green grass was so unbelievably soft, Gilman took a handful to always keep with him. He didn’t even notice the field was filling with children until he was surrounded.
Gilman retreated to Lady Caretaker’s side as fast as he could, nervous of all the new faces, movement, and sound. He inched closer to her as they watched the children play up-close. One of the boys kicked a ball from clear across the field, alerting the part of Gilman constantly seeking to be useful. He rushed out to grab the ball and return it, but when he turned back, there was a girl there holding a smaller boy by the hand.
“Cool sunglasses,” the girl said.
“Uh, yes.” Gilman nodded.
“I’m Gale, and this is Liu,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Gilman.”
“Do you know any games?” The girl asked.
Gilman thought about it for a moment. “Would you prefer to be roasted over a fire or stung by a thousand bees and then frozen in ice?”
Neither answered, looking at him with wide eyes. “Well, we’re playing tag,” Gale said. “Do you want to play?”
Gilman looked back at Lady Caretaker, who was watching. “Yes,” he said, thinking that would make her smile. It did.
“Tag!” Gale leaped forward to pat Gilman on the shoulder. He watched both of the children run away, the little boy giggling. Gilman turned around and went back to sit with Lady Caretaker in the shade. After a few minutes, Gale returned. “I tagged you,” she said. “You’re it.”
“I am what?”
“Maybe explain the game, Gale,” Lady Caretaker suggested. Gale took Gilman by the hand and brought him out to the middle of the field to explain. Working under Burke in the prison made Gilman quite fast, so he was good at the game once he understood the rules. Soon, all the children were playing. Gilman liked laughing with them.
Every day after that, he would play with them. They would play running games, imaginary games, climbing games, and none of them involved meeting horrific ends. Gilman learned all the children’s names, and everyone was kind. He got used to hearing his name and not cringing for a blow.
Soon, he began to go with the children for their meals. He never knew there were so many colors and flavors of food. Bright red apples and orange melon, and the greenest grapes that exploded in his mouth. He learned about new foods too, like the little yellow smile food they called “makencheez.” He’s not sure what fruit it came from, but it was delicious. They taught him to make his own food, like magic. He’s never eaten so much in his existence
His new friends showed him around the building, where they learn, where they sleep. One evening when they didn’t want to say goodnight, they invited him to stay in their room. Lady Caretaker even put a bed in for him. He never knew anything could be so soft as his bed. He thought it must be filled with the grass from outside. Gilman likes how the darkness at night is blue, not red like back in the caves. His sleep is full and deep for the first time, and the sound of the breeze through the trees wakes him every morning.
One night, his blissful sleep is interrupted by a cold firmness against his cheek. “Boy.” Gilman opens his eyes. Esht is glaring down at him, his blade pressed against his face. “Time to go.”
Some of the children stir in their beds. Gilman swings his legs off the bed, trying to seal the feeling of the soft sheets in his memory for later. Esht swings a palm into the side of Gilman’s head, snapping his face down.
“I said move.” Esht hisses.
Gilman’s ear throbs. His obedience has grown slow. “Yes, m’lord.” He leaves the sun glass eyes on the table next to his bed. He has a feeling he won’t need them where they’re going. As he walks down the row of beds, he sees a pair of eyes poking out from Gale’s blanket. He wishes he had more time to say goodbye, but he wants to get Esht a safe distance away from them.
Once they’re outside, Esht slaps a rough hand on Gilman’s shoulder and whirls them away from his friends, away from Lady Caretaker, away from the light.
Gilman doesn’t remember the prison being so dark; his eyes need a moment to adjust back to the dimness of the caves. The smell is strong, filth and brown water.
“Home sweet home.” Esht does a quick circle around the cell, sweeping Burke’s ashes aside with his foot. “My prize has returned, boy.” Esht shakes an excited finger at Gilman. “We must have me at my best. Fetch some water for the whetstone.” Esht shoves him towards the door of the cell. Gilman finds his bucket and goes to the small trench along the side of the wall to fill it. The stench almost makes him gag. He wishes for the smell of fresh fruit again.
As he returns to the cell, he gets a feeling of unease; the air feels heavier. He knows what it means. Gilman peeks around the corner, seeing that there are now two figures in the cell. His head forgets to bow, allowing his gaze to linger on The Ascendant for the first time ever. The Ascendant’s a little older than Esht but has the same chalky hair. He is fitter compared to Esht’s skeletal frame, so he seems taller.
“Welcome back,” Esht says, imitating a bow.
The Ascendant clasps his hands before him, studying Esht. “There’s been a remarkable escalation of catastrophic events on Earth since you have been in the last month. It seems you have been busy.”
“Is that pride I hear, brother?” Esht giggles. “You here to thank me?”
The Ascendant doesn’t answer, only unlaces his fingers. His hand twitches, and the black earth springs up, as fluid as water. It snags Esht by the wrist and drags his remaining arm down into the pool of darkness. He screams as it cements, and his chest slams against the solid floor. His blade arm has no leverage to free him with his good arm swallowed. His panic is shrill; he heaves and grunts, sending spittle flying everywhere.
Gilman feels flutters of relief to see Esht restrained again, but the thought of everything going back to how it used to be is as frightening as it is appealing.
“I do not condone the havoc you have wreaked on this realm,” The Ascendant says, crouching down to Esht’s level. “You have acted impulsively, foolishly. You have exposed this family, you have exposed me, to unworkable scrutiny.”
“Good.” Esht snarls. “I hope they burn you and that traitorous vixen.” He swings his blade towards The Ascendant, who catches it in his firm grip.
“Your antics have destroyed the trust that has taken years to cultivate.” There is no strain in The Ascendant’s tone, only displeasure. “Their suspicion of me will spread like rot until the situation can no longer be salvaged.” He snaps his fingers, bringing a crunching sound up from the floor beneath Esht.
Gil
man’s throat swells as Esht’s arm emerges from the ground with a crack, black and jagged to match the other. Esht rises to his feet, dazed, inspecting his new blade. His eyes flick to The Ascendant with wonder. “You will put it right by cutting out the rot,” The Ascendant whispers, leaning forward, so they’re eye to eye. “Show them what we do.”
QUADRAGINTA UNUM
Sloane wakes to Hubble’s frantic whining. She rolls out of bed and peeks over the balcony, shocked to see a mass standing over Erim, steadying a sword at his neck. Erim is wide-eyed, his hands up defensively. Nim snarls at the threat, crouched on the couch by Erim’s feet, unable to get any closer. Looks like the intruder got the drop on them quickly.
Sloane snatches up her sword and races down the stairs silently. She rests the tip on the back of Rhuso’s neck. He doesn’t even seem to notice. “There shouldn’t be a man in your room.” His tone is stormy.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Sloane says. “I’m sure he’ll put his weapon down and explain himself.” Rhuso doesn’t move. “Now!” she barks. With a soft growl, Rhuso lifts his sword away from Erim, who gulps and rubs his intact throat. “What do you want?”
“To stop you.”
“Dissipate me?”
Rhuso blinks at her like she’s an idiot. “No.”
“Well, that’s the only way to stop me,” Sloane says, keeping her weapon pointed at him.
He thinks on that for a moment. “What if I threaten to dissipate him?” Rhuso jabs his blade at Erim. Sloane freezes, her chest tightening.
Erim scoffs. “That won’t stop her.” He sits up. “But it might piss her off, so I say go for it. I’m willing to try anything that might give her an edge in the fight.”
Rhuso’s silence is infuriating. Sloane slides her blade off his shoulder. “What’s your deal, Rhuso? One day you’re threatening me, the next, saving me from Esht. You insist on teaching me how to fight but refuse to fight yourself, and you follow your father around like you’re brain-dead.” He is tight-lipped, chin high, eyes down. His refusal to engage boils her nerves. “Stop pretending to be a coward when we both know you’re not!” she shouts.
Interitum Page 35
