by L. Penelope
“Don’t you mean give you what you want? While these blitzes are entertaining, you promised me that your use of Dahlia’s precious flesh would be for more than pursuing a petty grievance.”
You flinch at the use of the term “petty.” There is nothing petty about your need for revenge and supremacy, but listing several lifetimes’ worth of injustice perpetrated by the Elsirans is not a productive use of time.
“I shall not allow this to continue,” Nikora says. “You’ve proven control of the wraiths, and I have lost no further men. But how has this brought me closer to my goal? I have given—” A commotion at the door interrupts her diatribe.
A servant enters with one of the Wailers behind him, the man’s blank face slack and addlepated. His hands clutch a length of chain. Two silent, vacant-eyed wraiths shuffle behind him, hands and feet shackled by the chain. They are meek as babes, which is exactly how you’ve instructed them to be. Nikora’s eyes widen.
“So you see,” you say proudly. “I have provided you with not one but two docile spirits to question. Ask them whatever you wish, if you think they will answer.” You mumble the last under your breath.
Cayro’s lips curl in disgust, but Nikora’s eyes shine with glee. That should keep the both of them busy for at least a little while. “I will begin questioning them immediately,” she says.
They leave to do exactly that, while you reflect on the battle. The presence of the Nethersingers was certainly unexpected. As was the resistance from the Raunian brutes. But neither group truly worries you. There are far more dead than living, after all.
After these exercises—proofs of concept really—you have finally mastered complete control over the spirits. The meager preparations and attempts at defense by the Elsirans and their allies might as well be a shield made of smoke. The sharp spear you wield will have no trouble slicing through such an insubstantial obstacle.
You will not be stopped. You hold the advantage over your sister, her people, and your so-called captors. Only one last piece to the puzzle is needed—Nikora’s spell still binds you, and your manipulation of her can only go so far. She must be taken care of before you can enact your final plan.
Then you will return to your rightful home and deal with your wayward remaining family. You imagine the look on her face when she is forced to submit to your conquest. Your cheeks will soon hurt from smiling so hard.
* * *
Oola’s face haunted Mooriah. She had never met her mother in person. She’d been cut from Her womb after the woman’s spirit was already gone, trapped in the World Between after Eero’s betrayal.
Her father, Yllis, had been solely focused on finding a way to bring Oola back. When he realized his daughter was a Nethersinger, he’d sent the baby off to live among the Cavefolk, where she couldn’t accidentally murder anyone, and where both she and those around her were protected.
He’d come to visit, infrequently, and she’d gotten to know him after a fashion, but they had never been close. And then he’d gone off to fight her uncle Eero and never returned.
She hadn’t known what to expect, seeing him again for the first time in five hundred years. That first glimpse she’d gotten in the meeting room when he’d arrived at the strategy meeting had been a shock. She’d been so agitated, she left quickly and had been avoiding him ever since, trying not to be in the places she thought he might be. As far as she knew, he hadn’t sought her out, either, which assuaged any guilt she might have had about her actions. So the reunion, when it took place, occurred by chance.
She happened upon him in a palace corridor, she at one end, he at the other. Across the distance he looked the same—still almost a stranger, a man whose love she’d never been sure she had. A man who’d always seen her mother when he looked upon her.
His silver hair was unchanged, the thick coils gathered neatly at his nape and stretching down his back. The hair of an old man on an unlined face—ageless and as unemotional as ever, she’d wager. A wave of sadness and love swept her, freezing her in place. But just as quickly and volatilely came the anger. The abandonment. The betrayal.
He was a wraith, as she was, and a sliver of strange magic inside her recognized him as such. Muscles tense, pulse racing, caught in the red haze of rage, Mooriah lashed out. He’d always called her temper fiery, usually with an air of chastisement in his voice. She’d show him fiery.
A pulse of Nether blasted from within her, severing her father’s connection to the body he inhabited. It crumpled to the floor, the Void taking over, while his spirit form hovered in the air above it.
Her fury now satiated, remorse crept in. Yllis’s spirit circled the body once, then twice, as if waiting for something, then dove back in. She didn’t even get a good look at the poor man acting as the unwitting host.
But a realization struck her that her Song, eager as it had been to cause mischief, had not been the source of the outburst. Wraith magic had expelled her father. Wraiths—even if they weren’t Nethersingers—could force out other wraiths. She had not realized that before and tucked it away for the future.
The still body transformed, taking on her father’s face and form before rising. She was too far away to see his expression. She considered turning around, escaping down the hall in the opposite direction, but she was no coward. Her emotions were quiet now, and she supposed she owed him an apology for her outburst. Still, she remained motionless until he took a step toward her. Then they both moved forward, stopping an arm’s length apart.
“Father.” She cleared her throat. “I apologize. That was not well done of me.”
He grunted. She supposed that was all the acknowledgement she would get. “Why did you not go into the Flame, my daughter?” His voice was both familiar and strange.
She swallowed, tucking away her disappointment. This was the first thing he wanted to know? “I had no desire to have my soul stripped clean, to be recycled into some other life. I had a reason to retain my memories. The prophecy—Murmur never came out and told me that I should avoid the Flame, but he’d hinted that I would be needed again. And he was right.”
In the World After, spirits were meant to join the Eternal Flame. They could stay out of it for a time, getting glimpses into the Living World and saying their silent good-byes to their loved ones and the lives they’d once had, but the Flame was a constant lure.
Resisting it had been difficult, often painful, but she’d had a purpose. And she’d carried it out.
Yllis sighed deeply. “I suppose it only makes sense that our family be here to see this through, we did start it after all.”
Mooriah didn’t start anything—she had not asked to be born a Nethersinger—but she kept that thought to herself. Instead she said, “Have you seen Her?”
A well of pain opened inside his eyes. “No,” he whispered.
“She must know we’re both here.”
“She knows. She has Her own reasons for ignoring us.”
After all the time her father had spent searching for her mother, now they were finally in the same place and it was Oola who’d disappeared. “You must have some idea where She is.”
He blinked slowly before meeting her gaze. He did not voice his agreement, but she saw the truth there.
“So you are avoiding Her, too?” Mooriah shook her head. “It’s time. I need to meet Her.”
She thought he might deny her, but instead, he surprised her by reaching for her hand. He had never been demonstrative, never been the type of father who hugged or kissed. The rough feel of his palm was novel, callused and scarred from many blood spells. Hers were the same.
Hand in hand, father and daughter left the building. There might have been a hundred eyes on them but Mooriah didn’t notice. They crossed a garden, the dying grass crisp beneath their feet. Behind the palace rose a rocky ridge, the peak of the ancient volcano on which Rosira had been built.
“How do you know where She is?” she asked.
“I can feel Her. I’ve always been able to, we
are connected.”
Her shoulders sank. She’d never had reason to hate her Nethersong the way others had, but there were times like these when she wondered what Earthsong would be like.
Yllis squeezed her hand. “It isn’t Earthsong that binds us, it is something deeper. If you search yourself, you’ll realize that you can feel Her, too. She’s inside of us.”
Mooriah wasn’t convinced. They climbed the rocks, which only rose a short distance above their heads. There was no true path, but she did sense something familiar in the route they took. The sensation pulsed within, though she’d never been here before.
They turned a corner and could go no farther. Before them, seated upon a boulder, looking out toward the sea, was her mother, the Goddess Awoken.
Oola rose slowly, so slowly, and turned to face them. Her face was expressionless. Dark eyes glimmered and Her white dress fluttered in a gust of wind. The shapes of their faces were similar. Mooriah saw pieces of herself in her mother, but the woman was a stranger.
No one spoke for a long time. Mooriah could not think of what to say, she just stared at this cold woman before her. Oola’s gaze went from Mooriah to Yllis, back and forth until, finally, tears spilled down Her cheeks. The sudden and unexpected display of emotion caused the dam inside of Mooriah to crack. Her feelings broke through the protective barrier she’d had in place for so long and her body doubled over on a sob.
She tried in vain to hold it back, shaking and heaving, clutching her arms around her. Her father’s hand rubbed her back for a moment and then she was wrapped in warmth. Strong arms squeezed her and the scent of jasmine and electricity enveloped her.
“Don’t cry, my daughter,” her mother whispered. “There will be time for crying later.”
Mooriah wasn’t sure that was true. Her heart was so full and so empty at the same time. She couldn’t put into words what she was feeling. Duty and love and pain and abandonment warred inside of her.
Her mother pulled back and cupped Mooriah’s cheeks in Her palms. Her father’s steady hand still ran slow circles on her back.
“Mama,” Mooriah whispered. And then her mother smiled.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
We are not as predictable as leaves, falling from
trees in seasons prescribed by the spinning of
orbs that chase the sun.
We revolve around timelines individual
made original
and unimaginable. For they cannot be foretold,
only forewarned.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
“Order a recount.”
Jack closed his eyes slowly as his wife’s voice grew more frantic. He couldn’t stand to see the disappointment and sorrow on her face. The only thing he could give her was bad news and he hated to be the one to do so.
“Sixty-seven percent,” he stated simply. “A recount will not change those numbers. Sixty-seven percent of the Lagrimari voted for separation.” He heard a thump and opened his eyes to find that she’d fallen into the armchair in front of the fireplace.
“More Lagrimari voted for separation than Elsirans,” she whispered into the flames.
“A good deal more.” He set the vote results down on the desk and stalked toward her. Only 56 percent of Elsirans had favored separation.
“You and Nadette and your team, you all made a big difference.”
“If only we would have known that the Elsirans weren’t the biggest problem,” she said wryly, slumping farther into the seat. “I just don’t understand.” She looked up at him with an expression of pure confusion and sorrow.
Jack wiped a hand down his face. “I wish I could say something that would make it clear, but I don’t understand myself.”
He braced his hands on the mantel and breathed deeply. There would be no unification. The people had spoken. Now they just had to figure out how to handle things going forward.
“We will still offer a path to citizenship for the Lagrimari, just like we do for people from other countries,” he offered. It was currently a long and expensive one, but they had been working on easing the process. This was just more incentive to do so. “With such a high percentage of Elsirans voting against the separation, we may be able to get the Council to approve some kind of measure granting rights for any Lagrimari who want to stay.”
It was sure to be an uphill battle for their insular nation though. Jack thought of his father-in-law, Dansig, of Benn and his daughters, of others who had adopted Lagrimari orphans and whose families were now in a strange sort of limbo. How many would even want to stay here? Jasminda’s expression hadn’t changed and Jack’s heart cracked at not being able to offer anything more.
A knock at the door sounded. It had been like this for the past twelve hours—ever since the attack. Messengers from around the city delivering updates on everything from the vote to the casualties to the damage incurred. The polls had closed before the attack and it was luck—or maybe a lack of luck—that none of the counting stations had been targeted by the True Father.
No, the worst of the damage had been to the utilities, running water and electricity were now in short supply across the city. Repair crews were hard at work, but it would be quite some time before things were back to normal.
Jack opened the door and accepted a stack of reports from the teenage page. The young man bowed before turning and running off.
“What now?” Jasminda asked when Jack returned to his desk.
He set down the mass of papers and began sifting through them. “Engineering reports. Initial repair estimates. Minister Stevenot wants a meeting at the top of the hour to share what the Department of the Interior has so far.”
She was silent for a while as he flipped through the rest of the pages, making quick assessments about what needed immediate attention and what could wait.
Finally, her voice broke through the silence. “Why do you think he stopped, last night? The True Father.”
Jack dropped the report in his hand and faced her. “Kyara said the attack ended just after Oola appeared. Maybe She did something to stop it?”
Jasminda’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think … Oola couldn’t be working with him, could She?”
Jack shook his head. “To what end? I know She’s often had a blind spot when it comes to Her twin, but he’s working to destroy us. She always has Her own agenda, but I don’t believe it’s our destruction.”
Jasminda pursed her lips.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive Her for letting you die in order to test Kyara,” he added, “but this army? This destruction? What does She gain from it?”
Jasminda shook her head and crossed her arms, shivering. “Where has She been and where did She go after the attack? I wish She was here if only to answer some questions.” With a heavy sigh, she pushed up from the chair to approach the desk. “Do you have the report about the shelter usage?”
“Somewhere in this stack,” he muttered, flipping through folders until he found it and handed it over. Hopefully, all the work ahead would take the sting off of the referendum results, but Jack wasn’t optimistic.
She settled into the chair, scanning the pages of the report. “Shelters were, on average, at less than thirty percent capacity. So sixty-four percent of Elsirans want to have Lagrimari around, but not too close, I guess. And they don’t want to trust Earthsingers with their safety.”
“To be fair, we didn’t have a lot of time to deliver the message about the shelters,” Jack said.
“Now that the power is off in most of the city the radio is out, and the newspapers can’t be printed.” She tossed the papers down.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I really don’t know. I think—”
She looked down and then took another deep breath, as if coming to a decision. “I think we need to do something drastic.” Jack sat next to her, giving her all of his attention.
“Half the citizens want to burn the Goddes
s in effigy for hiding the True Father’s escape. They don’t trust us either and it’s not only to their own detriment, but everyone else’s. The more people the spirits overtake, the worse the attacks will be.”
Jack nodded, urging her on. “You were right.” She blew out a breath. “I was … I was blinded by my anger. My rage. Our voices aren’t going to carry right now, but I know someone’s who will.”
Realization dawned, but he wasn’t certain. “Who?”
Her teeth clenched. “Zann Biddell.” It was obvious that she hated the conclusion she’d come to. “I’m wondering if he would be amenable to making a few announcements.”
Jack spoke carefully. The issue of Biddell had already been a minefield between them. “You want him to convince people to go to the shelters?”
“Getting their attention will be hard, but he could do it.”
“Do you think the Lagrimari will protest?”
She spread her arms. “We have no idea how the True Father is staging these attacks, no idea how many more there will be, or how much power he has left. He could have found a whole new energy source to fuel the amalgamations for all we know. Until we can find a way to stop him permanently, we need to limit his strength in some way and right now, reducing the number of potential hosts for his army is key. Our differences don’t matter anymore, not in this situation.”
Jack’s fingers moved rapidly against his thighs as he thought. “Do you think Biddell will cooperate?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can appeal to his patriotism? It’s in his best interest just like everyone else’s to be protected from the spirits.”
He leaned forward. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
She gave a barely there smile. “I made this mess. It should be me.”
“And what will you offer him? Freedom?”
