Each night, as the sun went down and the moons rose, so too did her fear of the night. As someone with an affinity for fire magic, darkness never once scared her. Not until Nesilia dragged her into the place called Nowhere—a place where night seemed to swallow her whole.
Now, she sat alone in the crow’s nest. They were docked just outside Myen Elnoir, overlooking the breathtaking city. Here, there was not a flying grimaur in sight, just a city like nothing she’d ever dreamed possible.
No walls were encircling it, no watchtowers with archers like there’d been throughout Yaolin City. From there, high above, she had a clear view of the streets, sprawled like the spokes of a giant wagon wheel. Lining each one, on both sides, was building after building, all pristine and so clean they almost glowed. Every single one was the purest white.
If someone had told Sora about that part, she’d have thought it sounded boring… but this was anything but. It was gorgeous, immaculate, and magical—a tiny paradise nestled in the mountains between landscapes of war and death. Even the Glass army’s presence was minimal like they never expected trouble here.
Golden arches cast shadows upon golden roads, bridging rooftop to rooftop, smaller versions of the towering one at the western entry that garnered so much fame. Joyful sounds echoed throughout the entirety of the city—music, dancing, playing. It was as if no one worked around here, and if they did, they treated the job like it was their greatest dream to fulfill.
However, Sora couldn’t enjoy it. None of it.
None of it mattered.
Instead, her mind was drawn to the Drav Cra warlock, Freydis. Sora hadn’t been able to forget a single moment of her imprisonment deep within her own mind. Even the times with Nesilia in complete control, Sora remained aware of the things she was doing. Even if the memories were faint, they were there.
The murder. The sex. The manipulation.
She’d fought—with every ounce of her considerable strength, she’d fought, but all of it was in vain. Nesilia may have been cast out of Sora’s body, but the Buried Goddess remained at large. And now, with hints of Nesilia in Panping and talk of cultists and worse ravaging the city her ancestors had called home—it was too much to bear.
Every time she closed her eyes, Sora felt taunted, like Nesilia was right there, just beyond her mental grasp, prepared to strike again.
At that moment, high above the pristine streets, Sora felt like Freydis. Not the vicious Freydis she’d left in the Citadel at Brekliodad, but the one she’d met in the alley on the dirty streets of Dockside. The tongueless, hopeless Freydis… that was how she felt. Despite all her rehearsed words, explanations, complaints, and petitions for help or forgiveness or whatever else, Sora had barely been able to utter a single word since the initial shock of her freedom had worn off.
Weeks spent plowing through ice-dotted waters, and Sora hadn’t so much as said, “thank you.”
And poor Whitney…
After all he’d already been through, he’d had to endure her reticence, too. And endure it, he had—with unexpected grace. He talked, sure, spun his exaggerated tales, tried to get her to open up in all his silver-tongued ways, but he never pushed.
Nesilia had forced her into silence, and Sora didn’t even know how much time she’d lost. Whitney claimed he’d been deprived of years in Elsewhere—torn from this world, buried beneath earth and water, bound to a world not his own. The whole time, Sora had searched for him, desperate to hold him, to speak to him, to tell him how much he meant to her.
Now, even the thought of speaking had her terrified.
What if she said the wrong thing and Nesilia burst out of Nowhere like it was all an act, driving Sora back into those depths? Maybe the Buried Goddess hadn’t been stored within the bar guai at all. Maybe she hadn’t been cast into that awful upyr’s body. Maybe she was waiting. Biding her time.
The gray clouds looming to the south told a different story. Sora could make believe it was a storm on the horizon, but no dream could be so sweet. Even looking at it made her heart sink.
For so long, a genuine fear that Nesilia’s presence would forever remain with Sora ravaged her mind—a soul tie, she’d heard it called. One of Madam Jaya’s many lessons about possession spoke of the lingering effects—a piece of the soul left within the body. The thought was terrifying. But she had been equally frightened that the Buried Goddess would leave and occupy another, like Freydis—powerful and willing.
Possession remained a very mysterious thing, but every text in Wetzel’s shack and every word spoken by her teachers at the Red Tower agreed that the key to a demon fully taking control of any being on Pantego was willingness and weakness of will. Sora’s will had nearly been broken battling Nesilia before Whitney arrived, and Nesilia was far more than some mere demon.
Freydis had been willing, but Nesilia said she wasn’t strong enough. The upyr Sigrid, on the other hand, had been powerful… very powerful… and what should stop her from being willing? She was already a pawn of darkness. What higher service than playing host to the vilest of all deities?
Yet here we sit while Panping burns, scared like children abandoned in the streets of Winde Port, she thought.
As a young girl, Sora had spent many long nights in fear, lying awake in the small room below Wetzel’s shack, surrounded by dust-covered books and scrolls, wishing she could be someone else… anyone else. Never did she think her wish would be granted in such a gruesome manner.
She’d shared a body with a goddess, and she couldn’t lie—there’d been times when the power felt good. She’d been tempted to give in, to give Nesilia full control and let the world that had been so cruel burn.
But she couldn’t…
Her own life had its value—but the lives of everyone in Pantego were worth so much more. If Nesilia had indeed found a willing host as powerful as Sigrid seemed to be, everyone was at risk.
The wind blew shining black locks of hair over Sora’s face. She brushed them back, letting her fingers linger a moment. With thumb and forefinger, she traced the point of her ear, recalling every crude word ever spoken to her about her heritage. All the ways she’d been treated, used, abused, hurt, shamed, broken, lied to, forgotten…
“Who cares about you, Sora?” Nesilia had repeated time and time again while she occupied Sora’s body. She would laugh and say, “A thief? You think he’ll come and steal you away from here? No one is coming. We are the same. You are forgotten, like me.”
It was a tool Nesilia had tried to use against her. Useless at first, but after time in Nowhere, Sora slowly started to believe it until finally… Whitney had done the impossible. Now there could be no doubt. A man capable of breaking into the mind of a powerful mystic possessed by a goddess, and retrieving his prize—that was the World’s Greatest Thief.
But she could never let him know that. His head was big enough already.
She laughed a tiny little laugh before her gaze flitted to the southern cloud, and her mouth went straight as an arrow. She thought of all those who were, no doubt, suffering in Yaolin City at Nesilia’s hands, just as she had. Her mind traveled back to Winde Port and the Panpingese District, where Tayvada Bokeo had lived and died.
The world was doomed.
Sora had felt Nesilia’s immeasurable power. No one could stop her.
“This vessel is powerful.” Sora remembered Nesilia’s words after she overtook Sigrid.
Sora cleared her throat, feeling a new sense of resolve. She glared south and said, “I am the daughter of the most powerful mystic to ever walk Pantego and its greatest King.” She was almost shocked by the fervor in her own voice after so long in silence, trapped in her own thoughts, but defiance rose up within and with it, so did she.
“That’s right,” Sora said, Elsewhere’s magic bubbling up inside her, siphoning the energy of her blood like a true mystic. Fire and embers danced around her clenched fist. She was in control. “I’m not some tongueless dog, Nesilia. I am Sora…”
Something
prickled against her hand, which now rested upon the smooth wooden rail. Opening her eyes, she found Aquira’s head nuzzling there, little yellow orbs looking up at her, blinking both sets of eyelids over and over. A soft purr escaped the wyvern’s scaly lips.
Sora’s eyes watered, and she leaned in.
“Oh, Aquira,” she said, so soft it was barely audible. But the wyvern heard her and chirped.
Sora wrapped both arms around her reptilian friend and pulled her in close. The spot on her chest where the bar guai had been remained tender. Still, her healing power had made its former presence nearly imperceptible—physically, at least.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you, Girl. I’m so—“ Her words cut off as she let out the emotions she’d been bottling up for so long.
Aquira blew a small puff of steam from her nostrils and settled in, still purring.
“I’ll never leave you again,” she said. “I promise. We are together forever.”
Just then, a dark, foreboding sensation choked her. Visions of Nesilia, larger than life, brooding and hovering over Yaolin City assaulted her mind.
Forever, she thought.
That word held such little meaning now. What did “forever” look like when a crazed goddess was on the loose, bent on destroying all life? Because as much as Nesilia proclaimed her desire to purge the world of weakness and let the strong rule, Sora had seen her true heart. No one would be worthy in the end, not in her eyes. Nothing would fill the void that Iam had left inside of her. So, she’d fill it with the suffering she’d known for countless years until there was nothing left to suffer.
“I can’t keep going like this, Aquira,” Sora said.
The little wyvern, who, admittedly, wasn’t very little anymore, drew back her long neck. Her frills folded, and her rough tongue flicked outward as she stared right into Sora’s eyes. Aquira’s horns had begun growing in, Sora noticed, and new tears formed in response to all the things she’d missed.
After her shoulders stopped bobbing, she sucked in a deep breath and said, “I’ve got to talk to Whitney—to everyone. No one understands just how awful what she has planned is. I’ve seen what she can do, and I was fighting it. I can’t imagine what will happen if Sigrid wants it too. Panping will just be the start. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.”
She took a deep breath and turned away from the black cloud above Yaolin.
“I never should have let us waste time in coming here,” she went on. “What was I thinking? We have to stop Nesilia, no matter what. I’ve been… selfish.”
“No, you haven’t,” said a voice from behind her.
It startled her, but only for a second. She’d recognized Whitney’s voice every time, whether in Elsewhere or Nowhere and now, even on Pantego. There was no mistaking it. It kept her sane for Iam-knows-how-long.
“Whit,” she said, turning and running toward him. He didn’t even budge as the full weight of her slammed against him. “I’m so sorry.” The words came out muffled, mouth pressed against his shoulder. His arms felt so good around her. It may not have been cold here in Myen Elnoir, but the frigid feeling of Nesilia’s presence had yet to leave her, even after so many weeks, and he warmed her.
“Sora,” he said, pushing her back, but only enough that he could see her eyes. “You have no reason to apologize.”
“But—“
“None!” The word was abrupt but not harsh. “Listen, what you did… what happened to you… it wasn’t your fault.”
“I went looking for them, for mystics, without you, because of what my powers did to you. It was a mistake. Iam and all the gods, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were being you, Sora,” Whitney said. “You never were one to sit back and let others have all the fun. When we were kids, and you heard I was breaking into Galleo Donavan’s dad’s bakery—what did you do?”
Sora’s gaze fixated on the silver clasp of his cloak, anything to avoid his eyes. Then she felt his finger lift her chin. Her eyes remained downward. He brushed her cheek, the wet of a tear smearing across it.
Whitney leaned down, forcing himself into her line of sight.
“What did you do?” he asked again. When she didn’t answer, he said, “You broke in first. You ate all the sweet cakes, so I didn’t get any.”
She laughed, barely.
“Then, the next day, you told Mr. Donavan it was me,” he went on. “That night, when I returned, he was waiting with his rolling pin. That hurt, Sora!” He rubbed at his head, playfully.
Sora remembered how mad Whitney had been that day, but now, he laughed, and she couldn’t help but join in.
Whitney never knew how much it had upset her that he’d been breaking into Mr. Donavan’s place without her. That was the moment she realized Whitney had a whole world of adventure that she hadn’t been invited to take part in. She hadn’t even eaten all the sweet cakes, she’d just tossed them to the pigs in Mrs. Dodson’s farm. And she cried that night, too, though she’d never have let Whitney know. She’d done everything to mask those tears from him.
But that was the day things changed, and he hadn’t the slightest clue. Standing here now, she’d give anything to go back in time and just tell him everything. How he was all she had in Troborough. That Wetzel, for all his guidance, was nothing more than a crotchety old man who’d never so much as hugged Sora, much less played the role as a father after her real father, King Liam Nothhelm, left her with him, so she’d never be discovered.
That the only time she’d felt accepted was when she was with Whitney. That knowing he’d been hiding things from her killed her inside. That the day he’d left her younger self standing in the woods while he trudged off to explore Pantego was the day her heart shattered into a million pieces.
She wanted to tell him that when she’d followed him and Torsten to those dwarven ruins, it was to drive a blade through his heart so that he’d feel half the pain she’d felt for so long, but she hadn’t been able to. And it was that fact which proved she was nothing like Nesilia, no matter what the goddess had said. Sora had chosen forgiveness.
She loved Whitney as a child, she loved him in those ruins, and she loved him now, more than ever. She’d often used anger as a means of escaping this very emotion, but no longer. Her lips formed a small, involuntary smile.
“That’s my girl,” Whitney said, wearing that same crooked grin he would affect before getting up to no good. “Now, it’s time you stop beating yourself up and join us. We need—“
“I can’t, Whit,” she said. “Not yet.”
“You can.”
“Just let me talk. I just—I knew you weren’t dead, but I went to Panping anyway. I… I abandoned you.” With that, her head pressed against him once more.
“Abandoned?” Whitney scoffed. “Are you mad? You were searching for me, same as I was you. Only the mystics could have helped you.”
“I went for myself too… I was so selfish.”
“I’m always selfish, and I promise, you weren’t. And no, you didn’t know I wasn’t dead, but c’mon? What were you supposed to think? I disappear into thin air, and the next time you see me, I’m in Elsewhere, being chased by demon hounds. If our roles had been reversed, I’d have thought you were dead.”
“It was my fault you were there to begin with!” Sora said. She wasn’t even sure her words carried beyond the nook of Whitney’s armpit. She just stayed there, releasing emotions she’d forgotten she had. Screaming in Nowhere had grown so tiresome with nobody listening, she’d given up on it.
“Sora… you didn’t do that,” he said. “That wasn’t you.”
Pulling back, Sora wiped her nose with the sleeve of her kimono. She couldn’t speak, but she looked up at him in a way she hoped encouraged further explanation. As always, Whitney knew exactly what she was asking.
“It was the Sanguine Lords. They banished…” Whitney stopped for just a fraction of a second before saying, “… Kazimir and he was holding me. That’s it. Bad timing.”
/>
“What?” It was all Sora could manage. The knowledge, whether true or not, that she hadn’t been responsible for sending Whitney to that awful place brought a small sense of relief to her overburdened heart.
“Yeah,” he said. “Kazimir disobeyed his gods, or masters, or whatever they are—were. They exiled him to Elsewhere to atone for his sins or rebellion. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the longest. I don’t even know how he got out… it might have been better if…” His breath caught in his throat.
Sora knew it must have been trying for him to talk about the vicious upyr that he’d apparently befriended—the upyr who’d tortured her. Although she’d barely spoken on the trip back from Brekliodad, Whitney had. It was one of the many things about him that simultaneously made her love him and infuriated her—Whitney never knew when to shut up. He’d told her all about Elsewhere, and living with Kazimir for six years, and Fake Troborough, the whole thing, even when she’d made believe she was sleeping.
“Come here, sit down,” Whitney said.
He dragged her down a couple steps to a bench bolted to the deck, and she was snapped back to the present. Aquira landed beside them, and Sora suddenly found herself grateful that the main deck was empty. Whitney took the seat next to her and reached out to scratch Aquira on the top of the head.
“Aquira missed you,” Whitney said.
“I’m so sorry, Whit,” Sora whispered. She rubbed the top of his hand. “I really am.”
“You never have to be sorry with me. You did what you thought you needed to.”
Sora pulled her hand back and stared down at both of hers. She saw blood there even though she knew they were clean. There was always blood on them now.
“You cared about the upyr, didn’t you?” Sora asked.
Whitney was quiet, something he rarely ever was. He shut his eyes, cleared his throat, and said, “I know it doesn’t make sense. When you knew him, he was a monster. But then—“
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 113