This time, she didn’t close her eyes but watched as little dots of light sped through the air around them. It was gorgeous and mesmerizing. Faintly, she heard Lucindur singing, but the words hardly mattered.
The next instant, Sora witnessed bright, colorful light swirling all around her. She had the sensation of falling, but it wasn’t scary at all. It was relaxing, wonderful, beautiful. Over the years, she’d experienced many things magical—fire from her hands, mending wounds, and far darker things while under Nesilia’s control. She’d been to Elsewhere and back again, but nothing felt quite like this.
A moment later, she stood in the middle of a boundless plain full of tall grasses and wildflowers. It was chilly, but not cold. A gentle wind sent her hair and kimono flapping, but it was nice. Before her stood nothing but greens and yellows, browns and oranges—a serene landscape where birds and animals could live harmoniously, swooping in and out, leaping from stalk to stalk.
But there were no animals. Nothing living, as if all had been terrified of what was to come.
A lone tree stood, tall and proud. Even in summer, it had no leaves, but the trunk was thick as a zhulong.
Her breath caught when, beyond the tree, she noticed a plume of black smoke billowing. It was a sight she’d seen far too many times—a village in flames. Then, she heard it—the shouts of the villagers, cries of anguish as their loved ones burned or bled to death in the streets. She thought back to all those she’d known and lost in Troborough at the hands of the Black Sandsmen.
It was amazing how quickly the threat of the Shesaitju disintegrated when something as violent and capricious as the Buried Goddess was at large.
Without delay, she started toward the village, unsure if she was seeing the past, present, or even future in this vision created by Lucindur’s magic.
A dark shadow cast itself over the prairie some distance off, and Sora looked above and beyond to find its source. A gasp, stifled by her hand over her mouth, echoed. It was no shadow but an army. She ducked low, letting the tall grass hide her, then slid behind the tree and waited.
Her breath came in, stunted and sharp. This was a familiar feeling, a familiar fear. She didn’t even need to look to know what she would see.
Nesilia, the Buried Goddess, would be at the head of that army like a king off to battle in the warm days of spring.
She didn’t know if she could die in one of these magical visions, but she wasn’t keen on finding out. She tried to steady her breathing. Peering around the tree, she saw two faces she knew intimately. Nesilia and Aihara Na. In truth, it was the Spider Queen Bliss, Nesilia’s sister and the One Who Remained. Once enemies, now they led an army of creatures so vile it brought the taste of vomit to Sora’s tongue.
Spiders by the thousands gathered around Aihara Na, rolling over the grasses like waves in the sea. Goblins, grimaurs, and even more monsters followed behind them—things Sora didn’t recognize. Though, what horrified her more than any of it were the legions of humans serving them, their eyes entirely black and wrapped in pulsing, black veins. And not only them, but wolves as well, the possession twisting them into something hellish.
Sora swore. They were heading right for her, and she wasn’t convinced a simple cover like the tree or grass would hide her, and it certainly wouldn’t mask her scent from the beasts.
“Stay calm,” she said, but couldn’t heed her own advice.
The worst part was that she’d located Nesilia, but what good did it do?
If only she knew which village they’d just razed. Were they in the North near Westvale?
The weather hinted that they were farther south, perhaps where Lilith’s Mill used to be? Had they continued the work across the great plains that the Shesaitju had started? There was just no telling.
Sora’s own thoughts made her sick. In that village, so many people would be dead and injured, their homes and businesses gone, and she thought of it so flippantly.
No, she had to tell herself. There’s nothing you can do about saving this village, but you can still save the world.
Save the world. As if that were such a simple task.
The sounds of the army were now upon her. With her back to the tree, she was still well-hidden, and as long as they kept to the other side, at least they wouldn’t see her, but it was only a matter of time before one of the hounds smelled her.
But could they smell her? She wasn’t really there, was she? The body produced a smell, but what of the spirit? Was she corporeal there? If only she’d taken the time to ask Lucindur questions instead of relying on fuzzy memories.
Whitney had been corporeal to her when he found her in Nowhere, but Nowhere was a realm of the spirit. This… this appeared to be Pantego in its natural state.
Once again, looking beyond the treetrunk, Sora saw Nesilia, but she couldn’t hear her words even though her mouth moved. Sora had to get closer. She’d trained with Whitney long enough to know how to move unheard, but would it work here?
She shook her head, trying to dispense of all negative thinking. She had one shot at this. One chance to find Nesilia, to learn of her plan, and to get the Brike Stone—which she could only pray and hope Whitney had found—to wherever they might be able to stop this once and for all.
Before she could change her mind, Sora slipped out from behind the safety of her hiding place and snuck toward the mass of evil that was Nesilia’s army. Through the grasses she went until, finally, she found herself flanking Nesilia. Her heart beat in her throat.
“I want to devour them,” Bliss said. “Eviscerate them, one by one, while the others watch.”
“Anger only causes mistakes,” Nesilia said. “You must learn to exact revenge cooly, and calmly.”
“For a thousand years, I’ve inhabited a body vaguely like this one.” She extended her arm, where an oversized spider crawled up toward her hand. “We are always calm as we spin our meals.”
Nesilia snickered. “When we get to Yarrington, there will be plenty to eat.”
“Yes. Iam’s followers are soft and ripe. I wish you’d let me have a taste of the one we’ve captured.”
“He has his role to play, as does my host’s brother.”
Yarrington? Sora thought, focusing on the one word in their discussion that mattered.
Sora was crouching and walking, keeping pace with the army. Then, her foot found a hole in the soil, and she tripped. She was careful to make no noise, but when she rose, she was staring directly into Nesilia’s eyes.
The Buried Goddess didn’t charge. She merely sneered and whispered, “I see you.”
XXVI
The Traitor
Rand Langley walked the streets of Latiapur. What was left of it, at least. After the stampeding zhulong and the raging wianu, it looked like it’d been struck by a tidal wave as tall as Mount Lister. A roar echoed from the water-filled arena. Rand winced. Even all these days later, a line of Shesaitju warriors marched from it, bound at the wrists. One by one, they were fed to the beasts if they refused to bow before the warlord called Babrak. And the women and children? Their fates were far less swift.
Rand could barely stomach the sounds of Babrak’s army ravaging the survivors. The Shesaitju weren’t known for their kindness to those they defeated. Pi was lucky he died when he did.
Nobody here is lucky, Rand told himself.
A scream reminded him of that, and his face screwed up as he climbed the first step up the palace.
“Come along, little human, she’s here,” the mystic Bliss summoned, wagging her finger as she soared a circle around him. Then, she soared up, the bottom of her frayed robe wriggling like tendrils of fire.
“I’m coming,” Rand grumbled. At my own yigging speed, he thought. The mystic may have breathed life back into him, but his body felt as battered as ever, and his legs like anchors dragging him down upon each step.
He tried not to look at the two warriors on the ridge to his right, arguing and playing tug-o-war over a women’s dress, her still in
it. He tried to ignore the fresh blood marking the polished stone of the steps slick, seeping into all the elaborate carvings along its surfaces.
I told them to run, he reminded himself. And the small voice at the back of his mind replied, it was already too late.
“Smile little Glassman,” Babrak said to him. The big man stood atop the stairs, hands folded behind his head as he stretched his full belly. Flaking black paint coated every inch of his skin. It was an odd thing, and something Rand wasn’t sure the former afhem even realized, how he’d painted over history—all of his many tattoos representing his tribe, his family, his Kingdom… all of it was gone.
Rand wanted to smack the satisfied expression right off his face. He, the conqueror who had done nothing, who now enjoyed the fruits of the Boiling Keep. Without Sigrid and Nesilia, he’d still be in his little corner of the desert complaining that a woman took the position he coveted.
“Why in Elsewhere would she choose to help you?” Rand spat.
“Excuse me?” Babrak answered, his features drooping into a deep scowl. Rand only then realized that he’d said that out loud and not in his own head.
“She wants to make a better, new world,” Rand went on, deciding to commit to the jab. “You seem like more of the same.”
Babrak stopped stretching and lumbered forward. He may not have been fit, but he was massive. Terrifyingly so. At least Rand would go down fighting. Better than being trampled like a coward and a traitor.
“Who do you think you are, boy?” Babrak sneered.
“Someone with eyes.”
Babrak reached out and held his tremendous hand just over the top of Rand’s head. “The witch says you’re untouchable, but I could crush your skull like a rotten bellot.”
Rand sucked in a breath. His blood boiled. “Do it then,” he whispered through his teeth, and he meant it. He’d seen the future and would welcome death.
Babrak’s brow furrowed as Rand leaned into the giant man’s grip. The tips of his fingers dug into the sides of Rand’s head.
“It’ll be one less outsider,” Rand went on.
The lump in Babrak’s throat bobbed. Then, sneering, he pulled his hand away. “You Glassmen have truly lost it. Good work killing the boy-King, though. How very brave of you.” He turned and entered the Keep, his laughter echoing within the courtyard.
Rand let out a mouthful of air. He blinked and looked around. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, and all the terrors of war surrounding him. A few seconds hearing the screams and cries of the victors sacking a city that was once their capital reminded him.
He followed Babrak inside, only to find the man absorbing the adoration of the palace sages. Everyone else in the city suffered, but not these ball-less fools. They kowtowed in a line leading to the throne room, foreheads touching the sand.
“So, now you all see how we have been deceived,” Babrak spoke as he crossed the room, rotating slowly to address them all. “Mahraveh was no Caleef, just a scared little orphan without her daddy. And now, she abandoned all of you here to die. A true Shesaitju would have fought to the death!”
He unleashed a deeper, heartier chortle, one that made Rand’s blood start to boil. Then, he stopped before one of the bowing sages, knelt with all the great effort it took for a man his size and lifted the baby-faced man’s chin with one finger. The sage trembled.
“Don’t be afraid, my child,” Babrak said. “The Current is with us. The usurpers are gone.”
“Do you ever stop blathering?” Bliss asked, appearing from behind a golden column. Her half-spectral being floated around Babrak, and then fluttered to the doors of the throne room.
Babrak forcefully removed his finger, and the sages chin fell, bouncing on the floor. “I appreciate the help, witch. But I think it’s time that you leave my city. We have a lot of work to do.”
“That wasn’t the arrangement,” a voice carried. Rand’s heart stuttered upon hearing it. He could never forget that voice, even if it wasn’t exactly Sigrid’s. He pushed by Babrak and found Nesilia lying horizontally across the coral throne with her feet up on the armrest. Then, he stopped.
The body of a sage lay on the platform before her, throat cut open. Nesilia held a goblet filled with liquid that was dark like wine, but much too red to be. She stirred it once with one of her long fingers, sucked it, then brought the rim to her mouth. Her dark eyes flickered as she sipped, then she licked the remnants from her lips.
“I must say, more and more, I grow to enjoy this body,” she said. “And they call this state of being a curse. Perhaps I should have left the Sanguine Lords intact. Clearly, they weren’t as worthless as so many other gods.”
“I hope you don’t mean me, dear sister,” Bliss said as she swept fully into the room, playfully swerving around the columns.
“You again,” Babrak said to Nesilia, terse. “I think you found the wrong seat.”
Nesilia took another long, indulgent gulp out of the goblet, then swished it around in her mouth. As she did, she reclined to make herself more comfortable.
“I needed to get off my feet,” she said, mouth stained. “Speeding around Pantego all night in this body is… exhausting. And finally giving our cowardly brother the fate he deserved really took it out of me.” She let her head sag back over the armrest and stretched out her legs.
“That throne is not meant for the likes of you,” Babrak said. “Get. Up.”
Nesilia rolled her head to the side, cracking a few vertebrae.
“I said get up!” Babrak roared.
Nesilia sighed. “If you insist.” She swept her legs one after the other and pushed off to her feet. Then, in a flash, she was behind Babrak. She gave him a shove in the back, and he flew forward like he was no bigger than a child. He stumbled over the lip of the Sea Door.
Right as he dropped, Bliss flicked her fingers, and a vine grew from the floor and lashed his ankle. It heaved him back up, and dumped him on the floor, huffing for air.
“You think you can do that to me?” Babrak hissed as he got to his hands and knees. However, all the former bravado was gone.
“I think I just did.” Nesilia strolled by him, taking her time, hips swaying, ankles crossing over one another with each step. “I may have promised you that chair in exchange for helping me, but I didn’t promise you’d be alive when you sit in it,” she said. She kicked Babrak in his belly, and he flipped up, back smashing against the coral throne.
“Now, stay there like a good dog and be quiet.”
Babrak coughed in response.
“And you.” Nesilia whipped around to face Rand. From behind, she was Sigrid. Maybe with white hair and more confidence in her gait, but she was his sister. As those dark eyes locked on him, however, ice shot through his veins.
“M… m… me?” Rand stammered.
She approached him, and he instinctually found himself retreating toward the wall without realizing it. “Impressive work, killing King Pi,” she said. “I would have enjoyed dangling him in front of Sir Torsten, but you did what you could for a puny mortal.”
“I didn’t…” Rand swallowed. “I didn’t kill him.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Bliss said.
“I didn’t.”
“Take credit where credit is due, Rand Langley.” She clapped her hands, and the sound made him leap out of his boots. “Well, if I can’t use the King, I suppose the knight’s friend will have to do.”
“His friend?” Rand asked. “His... who?”
“The scrawny one. I don’t know his name.” She tapped her forehead. “Lucian, or whatever.”
“Lucas,” Rand muttered.
“Yes, that’s it. Torsten seems to care for him. Though, maybe not as much as he seems to care for you.” Her glare hardened, and Rand’s throat felt like he’d swallowed a stone. She leaned in so close he could feel the frost on her breath, smell the blood. “From what I hear, he found you red-handed, lying on the street and left you to live. Now, why would
he do that?”
“He left me to suffer.”
“To suffer?”
Rand nodded meekly.
Nesilia stared for a few long moments as if letting the information settle. Then she sneered. “Of course, he did. Everyone must pay for their sins against a god who’s sinned more than any other. What a fool.”
“Why do you care about him?” Rand asked.
“Because he represents everything wrong with this world!” she bellowed. Again, Rand cringed. “Because he believes with all his heart that he can stop what is coming, just as he stopped Redstar. And he would throw you to the wolves to do it, I promise you that.”
“What if I deserve it?”
“Now, now, Rand Langley,” Bliss said, winding her way behind him. “You’re not going soft on us, are you?”
“Have you looked out there?” he asked. “Is that the change you want to bring? Is that your world? Because all I see is the same suffering and death as ever. I can’t believe that Sigrid would want that.”
“The forest burns before it grows.”
“Not if it’s all ashes!” he barked.
He didn’t mean to, the words just came exploding out of him, even seeming to catch Nesilia off guard. He shifted his feet, preparing for her to strike, but she didn’t. Instead, her shoulders hunched, the way Sigrid carried them. Her dark eyes softened to the green Rand had known all his life.
“Stay strong, brother,” she said. The hard dockside accent of his sister returned. Brother. He’d heard her say that word thousands of times. It sounded exactly like her.
“Siggy?” he asked softly. He stepped closer and cocked his head to the side to get a better look at her eyes—at the flecks of green filling the irises. “Is that you?”
“It is.”
He reached for her cheek, and she leaned into it like one would a warm pillow after a harsh winter’s night. “You’re really in there?”
“Always.”
“Sigrid, I’m…”
She pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. “I’m not angry with ye anymore. I just want ye to stay strong. The world we’ll be makin… it’s gonna be perfect. Simple. Gone with all the complexity and borders, all the things we only think we care about. There’ll be only the people worth carin about.”
Word of Truth Page 32
