by L. Penelope
“You cannot harm a Nethersinger with your power, Kyara.” Murmur’s voice floated over her.
Hopefully, she could wrangle her Song under control and then, perhaps, get some answers from the old man. She reached for the whirling energy inside her and tapped into it. But whereas it had always been a hurricane before, now it felt docile. A little kitten purring in her palms. Literally.
A soft, glowing light winked into existence, embodying her power as a tiny, feline creature lying asleep in her open hands. She gasped at the sensation of its weight and heft.
“The power of the Mother,” Murmur rasped with reverence. “Externalizing your power into an avatar is a gift from her. It will help you separate what you can do from who you are. The Mother is mighty indeed. Death, life, spirit, matter are all hers to control. That is the legacy of the Folk, the one we strove so hard to protect from the Outside. Though in the end, we failed.” His sorrow was palpable.
Kyara was so entranced by the soft, gentle thing in her grasp that she barely heard him. “What do I do with this?”
“Nurture and protect it, the way you would a real animal. It is your power and you must bond with it.”
“But death is not so quiet and unassuming.”
“Death is constant,” Mooriah said. “It is endless, why should it need to rage when it can come quietly and destroy even the most powerful with a whisper? Why do you need to run, or struggle, or curse and cry and berate when you can glide, and flow, and be smooth?”
She lifted her hand and a tiny, chirping bird flickered into existence, resting on her outstretched finger. “When I want it to, it can grow,” Mooriah said, and in the blink of an eye, the tiny birdling was a massive raptor, with sharp claws and an intimidating beak. And then with a snap of the fingers on her other hand, her power transformed back to its tiny, hatchling form. “It can be whatever you need.”
Kyara shook her head, focusing on the kitten in her palm, which was breathing deeply, fast asleep. She sensed the lion lurking within, but that power wasn’t needed now and so was not showing itself. She tentatively rubbed a hand over the sleeping creature’s head, pushing down the soft, downy fur. “Unbelievable.”
“Look at mine!” Tana called out with excitement. A very small lizard was curled in her outstretched hand. Kyara had never seen the girl beam so brightly. “She’ll be a dragon when she’s big!” Her voice held all the joy of a child opening her birthday gifts.
Her glee was both charming and worrisome. Kyara drew closer, not wanting to douse her delight, but needing her to remain cautious nonetheless. “What you said yesterday, about thinking that I’m some kind of hero. You have to know that I was forced to become the Poison Flame. I don’t enjoy killing people. Neither should you, regardless of the power we have.”
“I don’t want to kill people. I just want to protect myself and my sister.” She spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes wide.
“Protect from what?”
Tana blinked and the lizard disappeared from her hand. She lifted one of the long sleeves of her dress. They wore the same clothes inside the Mother as in real life, and Kyara guessed their bodies were the same, too, for Tana’s arm was covered in scars. “My father used to say that I killed my mother. I guess it’s true, she died giving birth to me. He blamed me. Took it out on me with beatings and whippings.” Tana’s voice held no emotion but Kyara grew angry on her behalf. If she hadn’t already killed the girl’s cretin of a father, she would have gladly done so again.
“When he met Ulani’s mama, he left off some, but after she had Ulani and ran off, he started back up. Locking me in the closet. Beating me. Ulani had to sneak me food ’cause he’d forget about me for days, and I’d be left in there to starve.” She sniffed and a tear crested her cheek. Kyara put an arm around her and held her close. The girl certainly felt like solid flesh, warm and just a touch frail.
“If I’d been powerful, if I’d been like you,” Tana continued, “then no one could have hurt me. I could have stopped him. Stopped our stepmother from selling us away. I may never grow up to be tall and strong. If I’m small and weak what chance do I have?”
She spoke a truth of life, one Kyara couldn’t refute. But she did have to set her straight on one thing. “Having power doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. The ones you love will always be able to cut you deeper than anyone else. But I am starting to believe that we have these strange Songs for a reason. And there’s a reason that only a few of us get them. Every Lagrimari is born with Earthsong except for us, we’re rare and special. Rarer still to survive having this ability.” She rested her head on top of the girl’s.
“You are strong and powerful, Tana, and not because of Nethersong, but because of who you are. Please don’t think I don’t understand. I know what it’s like to be beaten down. I have scars, too.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal the results of years of being used as fodder for blood magic. Tana examined the revealed skin, then met Kyara’s gaze.
“We’ll learn how to do this together,” Kyara said. She didn’t want to have anyone looking up to her; she didn’t feel she was worthy of the distinction and knew it was only a matter of time before Tana realized her awe and hopes had been put in the wrong person. Kyara wasn’t Darvyn, she wasn’t anyone’s savior, she could barely save herself, but at the same time, she felt a kinship with Tana and didn’t want to let the girl down.
She still hated Nethersong, even here and now where it was gentle and subdued. However, she would try to change her attitude in the way she hoped Tana would. Try to model what she wanted the girl to see and be—there was no reason Tana couldn’t be the strong, powerful hero she thought Kyara was.
And if Kyara had to pretend to be something she wasn’t in order to help the girl, then so be it. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Is gold more precious than
a heart filled to overflowing?
What price can you give to intangible
mysteries of love?
Only thieves assign its value.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
“That was irresponsible and reckless!” Nikora screams when you awaken from the viewing trance, energy sapped, senses dulled. “Your experiment has done nothing but waste more of Dahlia’s precious flesh!” Spit flies from her mouth to hit you, causing you to flinch. You raise a finger to clear it from your brow.
You have no time for her hysterics, but you shake off your exhaustion and focus on her foolishness. “Nikora.” Your voice is calm and the pitiless tone you use makes her freeze, mid-diatribe. “Look at all my experiment has accomplished. We sent a small reconnaissance force that gave us valuable information about our enemy.”
“Elsira is of no concern to us.” Nikora spat. “They are your enemy. Our enemy is death itself. And your assurances that this trial would yield some benefit have fallen flat.”
Breathing deeply so you do not reach for her neck and begin to squeeze, you steeple your fingers on the table before you, ignoring their bluish tinge. The fire in the parlor burns fiercely at your back, but everything here is still far too cold.
“Would you rather lose your own men while learning how to manage the wraiths long enough to get information out of them, or lose foreigners who, as you say, are of no concern? I am interested in efficiency. We have effectively killed two sparrows with one arrow, that is true allyship. I am upholding my end of our bargain, and I consider this trial run a grand success.” You offer a smile that once dazzled your followers, but she merely narrows her eyes.
Calling the wraiths again to go to Elsira was a stroke of genius on your part; of course it was pure, unadulterated luck that had the portal from the World After appear in the heart of the palace. Certainly the place had been on your mind, and all magic responds to intention. It had not been conscious choice but a well-timed boon.
The energy you expended on the spell to watch the action play out has your lids feeling heavy. But tiredness is weakness and so
you straighten, forcing your body to submit to your will. It helps that through the viewing trance you witnessed the girl queen and your sister battling the wraiths, struggling, and against only three. The revelation helps strengthen you.
“I think he has a point,” Cayro, Nikora’s second-in-command adds. You all sit at a rough-hewn table that looks just shy of collapse in the corner of Nikora’s sitting room. Cayro is farthest from the fireplace and cloaked in shadow. “We do not have the manpower to spare. Let us sacrifice others while we hone our abilities.”
She grits her teeth and stares at the man then back at you. “Hear me, Eero, and hear me well. I will not allow you to derail my mission. If you are my ally and are to continue enjoying the benefit of my hospitality, then your aims and mine must be in sync. I know who you are and what you are capable of. You are not fooling me.”
She motions sharply to Cayro and they both rise and leave. Once they are gone, you give in to the smirk pulling at your lips. You once met a wild dog like her, deep in the desert. It bared its teeth and growled, believing that it had some sort of power. But its blood soaked the sand just like any other creature that ever crossed you.
Imagining the feel of her neck between your hands is sweet.
* * *
For the next few days, you run the words of the incantation used to summon the wraiths over and over in your mind. It is a sloppy and indelicate thing. You had again failed to control the wraiths during that trial run. The creatures had been just as vicious and mindless as ever, their goal only to destroy.
Never mind that these spirits had no quarrel with Elsirans at all—it was the Physicks, after, who were responsible for their deaths with their Nethersong harvesting, you’d discovered—but their vengeance was stronger than their reason and fate had directed that energy toward your old enemy. You sensed, deeper in the portal, spirits who had kept more of their minds, better candidates for Nikora’s silly interrogations, but they had not come forward. The ones eager to return to the Living World were full of anger and desire for revenge. Even among the living these types of men could be dominated easily. What you will need if you are to free yourself and regain your rightful place is a way to call upon the wraiths and control them with finesse, the way you do the Wailers.
But that second recitation of the spell triggered something locked deep in your memory, a place you never tread. The past is behind you so why turn around? Never take a retrograde step, your father taught you that. But now, for the first time, it has been vitally important to dig around in that vast archive of your life, so full of arcane bits of flotsam and jetsam you have tried to discard.
There is a secret hiding in there somewhere, the key to all this, but for the life of you, you cannot figure it out. After days of struggling you finally admit that you need help remembering.
There is someone who knows. But no, you cannot contact her and she would not tell you anyway, even if you had a way to speak to her. Still, the idea will not leave you. It’s been placed by some force you cannot identify, some urge you cannot so easily throw away.
When dawn comes and the servant brings the morning meal—the same bland food you have eaten for days now—you tell the man that you need to speak with Nikora.
The servant doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you, but not a half hour later another comes and takes you through the icy passageways and back to the sitting room. Nikora and Cayro are at the rickety table, flipping through loose pages written in a language you cannot read. Curiosity prickles, but you push that weakness away.
“Yes, Eero?” Nikora asks, distracted.
“I believe the key to controlling the wraiths lies in the incantation you use to summon them.”
Her eyes narrow, but she does not interrupt.
“Where did you learn it?”
“The Seekers discovered it during their missions across the world. Every part of the spell was carefully considered before it was tried.” She speaks to you as one would to a slow child. You grit your teeth in an effort not to show your impatience. Though in your mind, a vision of squeezing her skull between your hands comes unbidden. Imagining its pulpy contents steaming as they’re exposed to the cold air calms you. This is the future you work toward.
“And yet,” you offer, “the wraiths express undirected violence. The incantation seals the blood spell, it is the only aspect of the spell that is changeable.”
“But we are not summoning them at all,” she insists. “The spell is just to open the portal to the World After. Those near the portal enter our world.”
That is at the root of the problem, but she must be too daft to realize it. Cayro lifts his head, cutting an odd glance at her.
“I am not unfamiliar with the magic of the blood,” you say, evenly. “Its mastery is how I was able to hold power for so long. We need to adjust the spell to better accomplish our goals.”
“How did you learn it?” she asks.
“Learn what?”
“Blood magic.”
The question stymies you. “I cannot recall. I have lived many lifetimes and learned many things.”
She snorts, derisive. “What would be helpful is for you to use that knowledge to take the Songs of the Wailers and give them to me.” You suppose that would help her, but the current arrangement suits you.
Reasoning with Nikora is proving to be a dead end. This woman is far too stupid to lead for long. Her devotion to the frivolous faith these Physicks hold has blinded her, but your eyes are open.
You scan the room as she prattles on and on about St. Dahlia’s mission and how blessed it is and destined for success. How the Physicks will rule once immortality is theirs and they rebuild the Great Machine.
The jar of desiccated flesh is nowhere in sight, thank the seeds, but on the sideboard next to the table lies a small stash of strange objects that were not there before. Several pairs of spectacles, two compasses, pens, loops of metal and stiff rope, boxy devices with wires sticking out of them, mugs and shoes and watches and even a telephone. A handful of small discs are off to one side, they are not unlike the medallion that Nikora wears.
Are these all amalgamations? She must be stockpiling them, hoarding their remaining quintessence. These medallions mimic Songs. With one of those, you can leave this place. Leave this madwoman to her spirits and her lost cause.
As she prattles, you yawn and ask for a drink. She pauses, midsentence, surprised at the interruption, and tracks your walk around the table to the other side, closer to the sideboard with the object and trinkets. You fall into a seat that can barely hold your weight.
She is still gaping like a fish, but Cayro watches you carefully. A flash in his eye makes you linger on his scrutiny, then focus once again on the woman who is ostensibly the leader of the ragtag outfit. Taking over from her will be too easy. That is, if you even want to do such a thing.
“Some refreshment would be much appreciated,” you repeat. There is a moment when you are not sure she will listen, then she yells for a servant who peeks his head in and scurries off with instructions.
“Resources are in short supply, here, Eero.” Her voice is clipped. The way she says your name sounds dirty. You will teach her manners before this is all said and done.
“Just something for my parched throat. As a close ally, I know you cannot deny me such a basic form of hospitality. So, if the incantation is not the problem, then what do you think it is?”
You tap your fingers on the tabletop, affecting a casual demeanor. Cayro stacks his papers neatly, his fingernails clean, hands appearing soft and callus-free. Not that yours have ever known a day’s labor, either.
Cayro takes your measure with obsidian eyes. “We wonder if it is simply the nature of the spirits who are waiting when the portal opens. If we can dispatch them and access others, perhaps those not so eager to leave, we may find more success. It may require retrieving a soul from the Eternal Flame.”
Nikora slams her hand down to shut Cayro up. He snaps his mouth shut, but does
not appear chastened. Nikora seethes.
“Is taking a soul from the Eternal Flame even possible?” you ask after a beat.
She looks annoyed but nods. “It is theorized, though we have as yet not attempted it. The theory is that the spirits gathered on the outer edges of the World After are the ones who seek revenge. Their souls have yet to be cleansed by the purification of the Eternal Flame, and they effect their petty grievances on us. But older spirits, ones that have known peace and are readying themselves for rebirth, those will be able to pass on the wisdom we seek. It is just a matter of having enough expendable bodies near the portal that the vengeance-seeking wraiths can glut themselves. Then we defeat those and allow time for the spell to draw out the souls from the Flame.”
The servant returns with a steaming beverage. It is burning hot and you don’t even taste it as it scalds your tongue and throat. Her plan is inane; much better to control the spirits who come out than try to drag one from a power as great as the Flame’s.
As the servant leaves, you trip him and the platter clatters to the ground. This distraction is all you need to reach to the sideboard behind you and grab one of the small medallions lying there without disturbing anything else. In a matter of seconds, the servant has righted himself. You pocket the coin in your trousers.
Nikora and Cayro stare angrily at the silent, bald man. Neither has seen what you’ve done.
Back in your room, you palm the medallion and close your eyes. Immediately, you can tell it is weak. Perhaps that is why it was left out unguarded. You have controlled an amalgam before, using Ydaris’s medallion back when she first arrived. You dislike the taste the combined magics leave in your mouth, but now any magic is priceless.
However, there is not enough here for you to effect an escape. Not enough to knock out guards, destroy this infernal castle, fly or travel through space the way you know Physicks can do. The way they spirited you away from your prison cell all those weeks ago. What a waste of resources they’d expended. You cannot even cancel the spell that prevents you from using blood magic they haven’t approved.
