by Kyrja
Glancing at the Emperor, he made sure the man was still there, unable to get free of his bonds. The very last thing any of them needed was for him to get loose again. Rhian had told him that her “father” knew no magic at all, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden it from her all of her life. He was tempted to add another layer of magic to what Aidena had done, but since he didn’t understand her kind of magic, he didn’t want to chance tampering with it.
Yes, just like before, the strange symbol appeared on his palm. And now it felt like there was … almost … a second heartbeat. In his palm. How very, very odd. Moving to his left, he felt it even stronger. He felt his eyebrow lift when he glanced at the metal box the Emperor was supposed to be in. He felt an unpleasant sensation crawl up his back to rest in his neck. There was someone in the box. Whoever it was, it obviously wasn’t the Emperor. As soon as Aidena returned, he would investigate, but first, he needed to help those he’d harmed. Ignoring the “second heartbeat” sensation he felt vibrating through him, he lifted his hands, releasing the healing energy across what would have been the battlefield, as he chanted the time-honored sounds and words necessary to help those which hadn’t already been killed out of hand by the Emperor’s personal guard.
After only a few moments, he could feel the echoing heartbeat growing stronger, and began to get a bad feeling about what was going on. Glancing again at the Emperor, it appeared he’d ceased his struggles. Kaya wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. For all he knew, Emperor Eazim was gathering his strength, much as he’d just done before releasing healing energy to all those who needed it. Usually, though, he was able to sense when someone was gathering or hoarding energy, but Kaya had come late to magic, only discovering he possessed the ability to manipulate energies a few months ago. It was entirely possible the Emperor was able to use magic he’d learned from those skilled in a variety of methods Kaya knew nothing about. Still, it seemed to him that the man was unnaturally still.
He felt relieved when he saw Aidena returning. Now, maybe they could get some real answers. She wasted no time in providing explanations, she simply landed in the wagon, then lifted the top of the metal box to reveal Councilor Fumaini inside.
“What’s he doing in there?” he asked, shocked. “I thought … everyone thought he was the one who was leading this army to the palace.”
“He’s keeping the Emperor alive,” she said, nodding once at the Emperor, still lying on the ground, unmoving.
“I don’t understand,” Kaya said, frowning.
“I don’t either,” Aidena sighed, looking around. “Listen, I have to get them both back to the palace so Sahil can fix this, but we can’t leave everyone just wandering around. Can you take care of … this?” she asked, looking at him. He thought she looked doubtful.
“I will,” he assured her. “But there’s something you need to know before you leave.”
“Make it fast,” she replied, replacing the lid to the box as she stood up. “Sahil said it may already be too late to save Fumaini’s life.”
“Tell Sahil that when I was drawing the afya symbol, I could feel his heartbeat,” he said, nodding at the metal box, “and that it got stronger.”
“Stronger?” Aidena frowned at him.
Nodding, Kaya added, “And he,” he said, pointing at the Emperor, “got weaker.”
Exhaling loudly, Aidena nodded, a look of concern still on her face. “I’ll tell him. I have to go now.”
“I’ll see you back at the palace,” Kaya agreed, stepping away from her a few paces.
“And Kaya?” she suddenly called out. When he looked up at her, she said, “Thanks for taking care of all … this.” She smiled for a moment, then twirled herself once more, growing larger and taller. In a few moments, the wind storm she had become sucked up both the metal box and the body of the Emperor, where they both seemed to hover in midair alongside of her twisting, rolling form as she moved towards the palace. Kaya thought it was probably the oddest thing he’d ever seen. Looking around at the bodies scattered everywhere, and the bewildered soldiers as most of them watched Aidena’s strange departure, he wondered which of them had the more difficult task ahead of them.
* * * * * * * *
Deep within the planet, the Singers stirred as the Song of the Earth spoke its melody to them from above the mantle for the first time in a very long time. Time, though, was a fluid concept to those who lived both inside and outside of it. The Song itself was eternal, belonging to both time and to space, and to neither. It was everywhere time and space existed. Its vibrations were often felt by those who knew to listen for it, or were ensnared by it, but rarely heard by any who did not join in the Song. It was being sung now, though, by one of their own who had rejoined those above the mantle so that those who remained beneath would continue to sing.
To those whose physical remains had long ago been abandoned, memory was an elusive perception. Bones and flesh were nothing compared to the Song. Remembrances of life lived within those bones and flesh was small compared to living within the Song; rarely worth the effort of recalling those things which had passed: smells, sights, or sensations, let alone singular events. All of those things were encompassed within the harmonics of the Song. All that would ever be was wound within the melody.
What mattered was the everlasting frequency, pitch, and harmony of their own creation, not that which depended on their consistency. Light, water, sustenance … the importance – or even existence – of these were lost, along with such inconsequential concepts as birth, death, rocks, humans, grass, cities, or the myriad affairs of those who benefited from their perpetual efforts. Balancing their energies to match the exacting frequency required by the Universe so that the planet itself revolved and orbited exactly as it did in their small portion of the endless cosmos was the All. The joy the Singers experienced in keeping that balance was more pleasing than any ever experienced by any being ever created.
And yet, the Song had changed. A single note of discord had arisen in a time and place that had touched each of them. All of them. And it had grown. She who had both created and not created the planet was trapped in a place outside of time. Outside of her proper place in the Song. Her vibration was askew, polluting the Song. Changing the water, the land, and the sky. The vibration. If the Singers could be said to experience physical pain, Giya’s presence outside of her proper place was the cause of it. And so had the Song dispatched one of their own above the mantle. Never before had one of them chosen to return to what had been left behind. Never before had any considered such a horrific fate. Because it had happened, each of them were touched. Each of them were made aware in a way never before experienced. Longing to return to the balance they’d always shared, they prepared themselves to act. The single note they’d awaited was being sounded. Surprise raced through the Singers when the second note joined the first.
For untold eons they had existed. They had always existed. Not only here, on this one, small planet far from any other, but everywhere. Without them to perpetuate the Song, it would never reach the furthest, most-remote places. Even in those times and spaces where nothing recognizable as “life” existed, the Song and its Singers were present. How else would the Universe be whole if it didn’t vibrate with a single, unifying note to sustain it? Without the voices of each Singer, life everywhere was threatened. Nor was there a purposeful thought to the note, vibration, or frequency which each of them contributed. They communicated no more than a flock of birds who turned as one mass, following the currents and eddies where they blew. With no Singers, the Song would die. With no Song, the Universe would be stilled and life would cease. He whom the Song had chosen to return to the “Before” above the mantle would need all of their help. The awareness of this need was frightening. It caused friction and conflict where these things had never existed.
And so did they rise to the occasion. Together. With purposeful harmony, to change the Second Circle of Jikangai. Time, they knew, had always known, had bee
n slowed in this part of the place that was and was not the planet. Lumas – may she ever sing freely – had created this anomaly, forever changing the tempo of the Song with echoes which plucked the strings of time where they should not have. Since the Song allowed the change, the Singers changed their own vibrations, pitch, and frequency to balance the effect. Now, though, it was time for the Song to return to its former melody so that those who were coming would have the chance to return the Song to its former glory. And so did the notes shift, change, and merge, until time in the Second Circle of Jikangai returned to its previous pace with the rest of the planet.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Death and Hiding
Ozahm watched as Deiserin tucked her head into her massive shell before she eased into the sea. This, he knew with every fiber in his being, was her only surcease from the indomitable task to which Lumas had put her. While her circuit around the circumference of the inner circle of Jikangai never wavered, even when that path included such obstacles as fallen trees, ravines, or an unmarked trek through water, he knew she enjoyed her time in the sea each time her unerring course brought her here. He could tell by her body language and her facial expressions that what she experienced was even more than a feeling of relief. Perhaps it was the easing of the massive weight she carried with her, or maybe it was just the sensation of the water against her body that brought her the sense of joy he knew she experienced as she entered the water. Perhaps just the change of temperature. He was certain that even in her tortoise form, Deiserin still experienced human emotions. Lumas was cruel enough to have left her sentient instead of having transformed her entirely into a creature with animal sensibilities.
He had done his level best to stop Deiserin in her tracks, to make her deviate from her tiresome track, and to stop her altogether, but even with all of the power he’d harnessed through Sina, the very best he’d been able to achieve was to have slowed her pace. Nor had that success lasted long. He had tried to kill her outright several times, but even his attempt to sever her head had proven fruitless. Lumas’s punishment was, as far as he could determine, permanent. Even to the point that she was protected from death so she would never be released from her drudgery. Nor had Sina’s attempt to drain the life from her caused any discernable change. It was maddening!
When he had poisoned Borja, he had changed the nature of her cellular structure so that every time she immersed herself in sea water, more of her body would rot. He’d known he would never be able to kill off that which made her a goddess, but he could take her body from her, so she would be powerless to act against him. On another planet, perhaps, she would have been able to forego any physical form at all, but not here, on the planet Sov had created. Sov had ever been fearful of other deities rising up against him. Whether any would have or not, Ozahm was uncertain. Sov had been powerful, but petty, and the fear of dying had ever been his greatest weakness, so Sov had never been one to move among his fellow gods. Nor had he trusted them. He had created this world in such a way that if a being had no physical form, it was impossible for them to remain. A kind of failsafe, or last resort, he imagined, so that if necessary, Sov would have only had to destroy the physical form of the being in order to rid himself of the entity altogether. It seemed an odd method of making sure no one was able to encroach on what he deemed was his own, but Ozahm had been pleased with being able to use the strange edict to his advantage in stealing Borja’s lifeforce to use as he’d wished. Of course, once he’d revived Sina from her momentary death, he’d released it back to the Universe, which – undoubtedly – meant Borja would have been revived at this point, at least to some degree. Still, Ozahm doubted any human or Bahari was likely to be helping Nohoyo’s new Water Goddess regain her strength. He wasn’t at all certain what she would do once she was strong enough to seek him out again. Perhaps she would try her hand at destroying him, or she might even leave the planet altogether. There was very little reason for her to stay, as far as he could see.
He had been unable to change the smallest thing about Deiserin though; not her path, her pace, nor even her cellular structure. She was not a god, so any of those things should have been easy for him to accomplish. And yet, he’d failed in every attempt he’d made. He knew his obsession for what it was, though. Harming her had never been his goal. She was merely the tool with which he’d chosen to exact his revenge on Giya. And while Deiserin may have remained unharmed, the Earth Goddess was suffering. She was becoming weaker, upsetting the cycle of life throughout the planet. It wouldn’t be long before every living being would feel the effects of what he’d done to her. Nor would he slow his efforts in using Sina’s powers to reach his ends. Now that she’d been forcefully reminded of her place, he would expect her to redouble her efforts. And this time, instead of using the flora and fauna of the plants which grew naturally in Jikangai, he would use the candentis vine he’d brought with him from his home world so very long ago.
Ozahm had waited a very, very long time to bring this particular surprise into play, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to use it, especially now that he had run out of other options. And most-especially since Denit had inserted herself into the situation. Ozahm was certain the newly-proclaimed Sun Goddess would actively seek him out in an effort to free Giya. He was not amused to find himself running out of time in a place which was outside of time.
The candentis vine was a one of his own creations from the time before Lumas had snatched him from his home and had dragged him through the depths of time and space to this place where he’d been nothing more than a nurse maid to a spoiled brat of a goddess for centuries. Giya had no more needed his “protection” than she had needed an extra arm or leg. It had been wanton and unforgiveable for Lumas to have ripped him from his own home where he had reigned supreme as the Lord of Death. His had been the most-beautiful of work, ensuring a smooth balance between life and death so that each would continue in its graceful, timeless dance. How he missed it still!
With the candentis vine, he would have more power than before. Without it, without the hope of it doing exactly what he wanted it to do, he would have relieved Sina of her life for having betrayed him. She owed him no loyalty nor allegiance and, truly, he was in no position to blame her for having sought out Denit to determine if the Sun Goddess might be the instrument of her escape from this place. He would have done the same in her place. That didn’t mean there weren’t consequences for having chosen to act against his wishes. He needed her still, and would tolerate no deviation from his success. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get Deiserin to stop without the vine and Sina’s help. That, of course, was the most frustrating thing of all; that he needed help. And from a mortal at that. He soothed his anger the best he could by thinking of her as nothing more than a tool, but every time he thought of her, his seething anger at not being enough to complete his task burbled that much closer to the surface. He would be more inclined to be pacified if she were a god in her own right. One god pitted against another was only fair and right. To be in need of a human to win against his enemy was insulting and infuriating.
Still, he would have the last laugh against all humankind. They had fallen for his ruse for centuries and soon they would understand their mistake. The candentis vine was the same vine he’d used to choke off the human population of his home planet. It grew at an amazing – some would say alarming – rate and would easily kill off most of the population of the entire planet within days. Once he activated it.
It had lain dormant all this time, quietly growing where it was planted, seen as a “blessing” from Giya. He’d laughed out loud the first time he’d learned that someone had named it “Giya’s Tears.” Virtually everyone who had ever encountered the vine had heard the legend of how Giya had created and nurtured the plant so that her children who lived in the desert, the Tuq’deb, would always have water at their disposal. The oblong fruit was filled with a lightly sweet nectar that wasn’t so heavy as to be syrupy. A grown man could be sustained on the fru
it and its juice for days, or so the story had come to be told. Even the leaves of the plant were supposed to be refreshing!
This plant, the candentis vine, was a very special creation of Ozahm’s. He’d made sure, when he’d crafted it, that the plant itself was never able to grow from the seeds of the fruit. It was important that he be the only one to be able to control it. If the seeds had been able to reproduce, the very nature of the plant would have been polluted and bastardized as it evolved through the natural pollenization by bees, butterflies, and other such helpful creatures. And that, of course, would never do. He’d created the vine for one reason and one reason only – to kill humans.
He’d heard that humans had learned how to discern which of the vines would reproduce and had been impressed they’d taken the time to learn about it and to nurture it, and so he’d left them alone, hopeful humankind had begun to evolve. He held the smallest measure of regret in his consciousness for the fact that they would have to suffer because of Giya’s actions, but he would not allow her to continue to exist. She was selfish and evil and must be made to pay for her interference with the life on this planet. He was only sorry Lumas hadn’t taken Giya with her when she’d left. He wouldn’t have minded remaining on this beautiful planet. Perhaps he still would … after. After the Breath of Death had done its work. He smiled to himself then, wondering how the citizens of this fine planet would feel if they had known they’d helped to nurture his finest weapon all these years.
The only problem in deploying his precious vine was that he hadn’t thought he would need to bring it here, to Jikangai, in order to stop Deiserin. He wasn’t usually so short-sighted, or unprepared. The fact he’d failed to bring it with him was an obvious demonstration as to how unbalanced he’d become over the years as Giya’s “protector.” It was a role for which he was wholly unsuited. This planet was crying out to him for help. He sometimes thought he might even be able to hear it. Such a lovely, sad song, just aching for his loving embrace. He sighed deeply, realizing he would be forced to leave Jikangai in order to retrieve the one thing which would ensure his success. He’d forgotten it because it had been absolutely imperative he had gotten Sina before her Fire Tender ability to transfer life from one object to another was taken from her. He’d had only a moment in time to whisk her away, and he’d done it. And now … she couldn’t be trusted. If he left her behind while he returned to the “real” world, she might very well do something which could upset his plans. On the other hand, she had been horrified that he’d transformed her, and right under the very noses of those she had hoped would save her. When he had reformed and re-animated her, she had sobbed for a long time, grateful to yet be among the living. And she had discovered for herself that Denit wasn’t powerful enough to help her escape. So it was entirely possible that she would behave herself in his absence. Shaking his head with regret, Ozahm knew there simply was no other choice. He would have to leave now, though, if he was going to return quickly enough that she wouldn’t notice his absence. She would be waiting for him exactly where he told her to meet him when he returned. He was sure of it. What other choice did she have?
