by Wagner, Raye
Could she still be alive, or would we only find her broken body? And what had she been so upset about? Was it Zîvrünê’s fault? I balked at the very thought. It had to be Zerôn—it was always Zerôn’s fault. He was rotten.
What would I do if she was dead? The very thought made my stomach twist all the way up to my throat. My sister. My beautiful…
Zîvrünê stopped at the head of the trail, on the opposite side of the valley, but I released his hand and sprinted through the foliage, forward to where Zerôn stood, head bowed among the plants.
My pace slowed as I drew near, fear, anxiety, trepidation filling me more with each step, the weight dragging an anchor from my heart to my feet. My throat clogged as the broken branches and bent leaves registered. Why wasn’t he doing something? Was it too late? Was she already dead? I pushed ahead, my vision tunneling the closer I got until all I could see…
The patter of rain faded with an overwhelming rush in my ears, the sound of my heart gushing in anguish. No. That couldn’t be right. My mouth dried, and I had to blink away the tears so I could see… so I could see…
Zîyanâ lay on the ground, face up, her eyes wide with terror. Her hair was mostly fanned out on the left side. A dark golden halo of wet strands—almost snake like—surrounded her head, and one thick clump lay over her cheeks and nose. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, broken just above the joint, the bone protruding through the torn white flesh, accompanied by a shred of branch stuck clean through. A trickle of crimson oozed from the wound, disappearing halfway down her arm as the rain washed away the blood. Her sarong was torn on the same side, the skin and tissue beneath grated away from her crushed ribs and exposed hip.
Forgetting everything and everyone else, I gasped and fell to her side, being careful—so careful—to not touch her mangled body. Her lips were parted, her chest heaving with the effort of each wet, strangled breath. I wanted to help, wanted to do something to give her anything I could, something to aid her.
Rot.
I scanned her body, my hands moving on their own accord, fluttering uselessly over her face, neck, chest… her broken chest. I pulled the clump of hair away from her face, dropping the golden strands to the ground on the other side with the rest of her locks.
“You love her,” Zîvrünê shouted from behind me. “You must fix her. You can… Fix her!”
I jerked back to awareness and spun, searching for the only one who could. “Please,” I begged Zerôn. “Please, help her. You…”
His hardened expression was like stone, firmly fixed on my sister, ignoring me and Zîvrünê. I scrabbled forward on my hands and knees, begging, until I was near enough to grab Zerôn.
“Help her,” I shouted, seizing his leg. I clawed into his skin, determined to make him—
Pain exploded across my chest, white bursts clouded my vision, and a brief fraction of a second passed before my head bounced off something solid and another explosion of pain tore through me. I gasped, blinking, desperate to catch my breath—to clear my tunneling vision—to help my sister. The sounds faded, and I seemed to be floating.
“You,” Zerôn snarled.
His voice crawled through the darkness of my mind, wrenching me from unconsciousness. The horror rushed back to me, and I sat up, panting for air as I dug my nails into the dirt to orient myself. The spinning sensation slowed, and muted colors wavered in the distance of the darkness.
I shook the dizzying feeling off, wincing as fire licked the back of my skull. Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to focus.
Zîvrünê begged, “I’ll give you anything. Please.”
No! I wheezed, waving my arms, and managed to speak. “Don’t…”
Zîyanâ crouched down in front of me, a worried expression on her face—her transparent face.
I gulped, my eyes widening as she came into focus. There was my sister, completely whole, except I could see right through her. My mind spun, trying to reconcile what I saw with what I knew. If she was here—that could only mean…
“You’re dead?” The words came out on my exhale, a question and exclamation all in one.
She shrugged. “Close enough, or I wouldn’t have been able to leave my body.”
Was I dead? I brought my hand to my chest, but the moment of reassurance fled as soon as I made contact with my skin. Would I still be able to feel my own soul if I was dead?
Zîyanâ laughed. “You’re not dead, Dîsa.” She glanced behind at where her body lay, Zerôn kneeling next to her. “What an ass. Now he heals me… when it doesn’t even matter anymore.” She offered a sad smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so rude. Zerôn—”
A loud crack of splintering wood startled us both, and I sat up to see Bîcav restraining Zîvrünê as he bellowed at his brother. A heartbeat later, I winced as the ground seemed to roll beneath me, and my vision swam. Blinking, I shook my head, but before I could say anything, Zîyanâ continued.
“Did you know when your soul leaves your body, you can remember everything? Like all-the-way-back-to-Kânkarä… and when we first came to Qralî. We were friends then, but we don’t always get to be together—like this.” She frowned and asked, “Have you had a soul tell you things from before? I mean, in this life?”
“No,” I whispered. “I… I can’t hear souls.” Except I could. I was, at this very moment, looking at my sister’s. I thumped my fingers against my temple. Maybe I’d lost my mind… the stress… hitting my head…
“You can do more than that. You’re a necro—What’s wrong? You think you’ve lost your rocks?” she asked, shaking her head. “You’re fine, Dîsa. Take a deep breath.”
I forced a swallow but refused to argue with her; I was most definitely not fine.
“So now what?” I asked, my voice hoarse with shock.
Zîyanâ pressed her hand to her heart and then glanced over her shoulder. When she faced me again, a small smile played on her lips. “Let’s go see what the boys are up to before I have to go.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, scrambling to my feet. My mind reeled as much as my vision. We’d been taught the soul was eternal, that we were reborn after death, and my sister’s soul was confirming it—but I wasn’t ready to be alone.
She crossed the distance from where I stood to her prone body, waving at me to follow when she saw me still rooted.
“I think he really did heal me—all the way. I can feel it”—she raised her hand and smacked where it had been resting a moment before—“here.” Her eyes widened, and she faced me. “Dîsa, you can put me back.”
Me? I pointed at myself, letting my furrowed expression ask the question aloud.
“Yes. If you do nothing, I’ll get pulled into another body. My soul will be born again. But…”
As soon as the words left her mouth, her expression shifted from excitement to a wary pursing of her lips as she eyed Zerôn.
But my heart flipped, and my chest expanded with hope. I latched onto the idea, my mind emptying of everything else. This was how I could have her back. Alive. Now. With me.
I jumped up and sprinted toward her, despite her frantic expression. She waved me away, but I didn’t stop—I wouldn’t stop—because I could do this.
I’d all but forgotten about the regretable experience because it had been both an accident and a failure. Having found a fledgling bird, fallen from its nest with its neck broken, I’d touched its body, and its soul slid back into the tiny form. I watched in dismay as it died again because its body hadn’t been healed. Not like my sister’s.
“Wait,” she said. “No… I need to think. I don’t want—”
I snatched her wrist, the cool-wispy air solidifying with my grip. I could feel her emotions seeping through the connection—fear, so much fear—but I could do this. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her it would be fine, that if Zerôn had healed her body, he must truly love her. So, even though I didn’t like him, I could respect her decision to be with him—and I loved her so much.
Pushing past Zîv
rünê, I dropped to my knees, pulling Zîyanâ’s soul down with me.
“I’m sorry,” he said from behind me, his voice choked with emotion.
Ignoring him, I took a deep breath and reached out with my free hand toward her prone, still body. The gruesome wounds were gone—healed, just like she said. But her skin was pale and ashen, her lips tinged blue, and she stared at the canopy above with glassy, unfocused eyes. I rested my hand on her chest, as close as I could to where she’d patted her heart. My stomach clenched at the feel of her skin, cool and wet. But I would not let death take her from me—not when I needed her still.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The air around her body tasted of rancid oil, bitter, sour… rank. I exhaled, pushing the malodorous air from my lungs, slowly, controlled and focused. I’m in control.
“Dîsa, no! Wait!” Zîyanâ shouted.
But at the same time, I lifted my head toward the sky and inhaled, opening my soul, my lungs, my body to the life all around us. Because that was her magîk—life. Finally, I opened myself to her, Zîyanâ. Where I’d held her wrist was suddenly empty, but I could feel her soul, a zing of sunshine, leaving behind a beautiful residual warmth as she slid through my body and then back into her own.
“This is my fault,” Zîvrünê said, pulling me into his arms. He ran his hand down my back and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
I blinked and, seeing nothing but the contours of his chest, pulled away, only to wish myself back into his embrace as Zerôn butted between us.
“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t work,” he snarled, pounding his finger on Zîvrünê’s chest.
Scooting to the side, I saw Zerôn’s golden features twisted in rage.
“I’m holding you to your promise,” he bellowed.
Frowning, I turned to ask Zîvrünê what promise he’d made, but Zîyanâ coughed.
Zerôn, Zîvrünê, and I all turned to her as she sat up. Her skin was still pale, making her wide eyes appear even bigger, practically swallowing her entire face. She glanced at Zerôn, Zîvrünê, and then finally me.
“What happened?” she rasped.
8
Today
Heza was on the western side of Qralî, halfway between Yândarî and the most distal outposts and just south of the Hisk mountain range, on the southwest tip of Kur lake. The Rê, our most significant road, encircled Yândarî, bordered it really, and from the large, wide thoroughfare, four thick highways led travelers into the various parts of the realm: North Rê, South Rê, East Rê, and West Rê. Obviously, we weren’t very creative in our previous lives—or very accurate. For the North Rê branched to the northeast, the East Rê to the Southeast, and the South Rê to the southwest. The West Rê was the only road that truly led to the western part of Qralî, at least until it hit the outpost Gol. Then it was forced to dip south until the Avî River was narrow enough to cross.
From Heza to Yândarî would take me at least two and a half weeks, if I didn’t stop for anything except sleep. Three weeks was far more likely. Before starting out, I waited for the sun to climb well past the horizon. And when the days’ dying rays painted the jungle in shadows of violet and rich cerulean, I pushed past my fear of heights and climbed into the trees—preferring the branches in an attempt to avoid some of the predators, namely Serîk and caiman.
I skirted between Gol and Gazi, my sulu wrapped tight around my waist and my steps sure and quiet. There was plenty of food in the jungle, mostly fruit and nuts, so I didn’t starve. But by the time I approached the Cesaret outpost, two and a half weeks after leaving Heza, I was hungry for something hot, something cooked. I wanted roasted pheasant with potatoes and gravy, or Dostane’s pîderîne balls. My mouth watered just thinking about real food. But I was starving for interaction too—a magî to talk with, even if it was just to discuss the muggy air. I needed a bath as well, not just the intermittent rain showers of the dry season. Surely the Serîk would’ve passed by now.
I spotted the wide path branching off from the Western Rê in the fading twilight and thought the road a mirage. But as I approached, the noise from Cesaret rolled out from between the trees, and the normal sounds of the jungle—the cawing birds, croaking frogs, and chirping insects—were swallowed up in the bustle of magî at the end of a market day. I waited in the dense growth until the light filtering in from the canopy above dimmed, spying the citizens from afar as I searched for Serîk. Here and there, among the crowds, I spied male magî in their crimson leather. As time passed, the volume from the animals increased, as though the sun’s final departure for the day was invitation for their song to swell.
Most magî had packed up and headed into their homes for the night, including the guards, and only a few stragglers remained. Hopefully, I’d find one who was sympathetic and kind—or at least one with a loose tongue. I took a step from behind the trellis of pale orchids hiding me, and as if only noticing their beauty for the first time, I leaned over the blooms and inhaled the verdant scent—
A low growl crawled out from between the foliage.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I stuttered back a step, stilling when the growl ended with a short yowl of pain. Something of the animal’s agony called to me, and I stared into the lower layer of growth, inexplicably worried for the creature.
The sound of pain was too real to be faked, but that didn’t mean the animal wouldn’t attempt to defend itself from a magî. My magîk wouldn’t give me any defense either—not that I’d discovered anyway. But the girl I’d once been resurfaced, and I couldn’t leave without at least checking on the animal.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself as I pushed fern fronds out of the way and climbed through the growth. Something thick and round smacked into my cheek, and I stifled an instinctive squeal. Grabbing for the offending reptile, as if I could fling it away before it struck, my palm brushed against a rough vine. I blew out a long huff, but my heart rate remained elevated, thumping against my chest even after releasing the vine—not a snake.
The snap of a twig beneath my feet was immediately followed by another low growl, this one much quieter despite the fact that the sound reverberated through the mud and up my feet. There was only one creature in Qralî that could make that sound, and my sister used to tease me about my obsession with the Apex panthera.
I scanned the ground, looking for the contrast of colors of the spotted predator, but there was only the inky darkness of the jungle floor at twilight. Lifting my foot, my leg brushed against thick fur, and the panthera hissed as it scrambled next to me.
A yip of fear escaped as I backed away, stumbling over the roots of a tree, and then I fell, landing hard on my butt. Panic seized me as I stared into the murkiness. The dim moonlight was just enough to see the cat’s deadly teeth, and I understood why I’d initially missed the Apex—his black fur blended into the rich darkness, making him almost invisible.
I was desperate to flee, heart pounding against my ribs. My mouth dried and breaths grew shallow, and I fought the instinct to run, knowing the great cat would instinctively give chase, and he would certainly win. Instead, I scrabbled upright, standing on tiptoes, raised my arms and puffed my chest out, doing my best to appear bigger than the great cat. I gulped for air as I stared the animal down.
He was big, even for an Apex, at least two hundred pounds, and well over three feet at the shoulder—at least at my best approximation from the inches separating us. I waited for him to lunge, to crush my bones with his terrible jaws. I waved my arms and forced a swallow, trying to wet my parched mouth.
But the beast merely sniffed the air, still not opening his eyes. I didn’t understand what was happening, and my confusion mounted when the panthera dropped to the ground with another low yowl. He was sick—maybe even dying, though I didn’t see his spirit. I dropped to my soles and leaned forward, studying the animal—difficult in the low light—fear replaced by curiosity.
“Hey, beautiful,” I murmured as I inched forward. “Are you sick?” Could pant
hera get sick? Was there such thing? Illness among the magî was rare and never lasted long, for the number of magî with some ability to heal were plentiful enough. Death came after a sudden, severe injury, or with age, for no magî had found a way to heal mortality. But animals didn’t have magîk. I snorted at the sudden realization—a cruel irony self-imposed by my own blinded infatuation with Zîvrünê, the previous heir. As a child, I’d adored panthera, until I was old enough to appreciate the impossibility of taming a wild beast. But as I’d grown up, I merely transferred my adoration from one creature I could never have to another: Zîvrünê. Although the blame for the latter obsession wasn’t entirely my own doing. I’d grown up hearing of his virtues. My parents had extolled them for years, for Zîyanâ’s benefit. Alas, another irony.
I shook myself from the memories and eased closer, continuing to coo at the large cat as I drew near enough for my boot to rest against his fur. When he didn’t move, I shifted over so that I was at his head. He raised it and released a pathetic yowl.
“What the fetid rot?” I dropped to my knees and reached forward, freezing when the great cat bared his teeth and hissed.
His hiss turned into a whine, and then he leaned forward and snuffed at my outstretched hand. My panicked heart softened and then melted when he bumped my palm with his nose—his very dry nose—so dry that there was caked blood around his nostril. I scanned his body for other injuries, but my attention continued to drift back to the gaping, vacant sockets where his eyes should be.
“Who did this to you?” I muttered, running my hand over his side and the ridges of his ribs. He was so thin. Of course, he was starving and dehydrated… dying. “I’ll help you,” I whispered. “I’ll help. You’ll… be all right. I’ll be right back.”
I went to find him food and water. At least the latter should have been easy enough to locate. I just needed a bowl to collect it in. I blinked into the darkness, surprised that it was now night—When did that happen? The Sivan blocked some of the moonlight, but the lower canopy was really thick here, and I was afraid to go too far and get lost.