Ishtara’s heart raced and she ran in. Her parents’ bodies lay in a corner at the base of the headless statue of Rikel, the legendary boy-king and the father of the Ragan people. Their throats had been slit, and their faces had gone pale. The statue stood over them like a grave marker.
She looked away from them, not wanting to see their lifeless bodies. Instead, she stared at the statue. The eight-foot-tall sculpture had robes so finely carved, she practically expected them to ripple. Its head had been broken off and sat across the room. Other parts had been chipped away, obviously the efforts of her parents’ killers. It was treason for her father to have sculpted it, but he had always believed they would eventually fight off the Ontari, and he wanted his masterpiece ready to stand in the town square, declaring their freedom.
Malak walked up beside her, his face pale. Before Ishtara even realized what she was doing, her eyes were in her hand. Where her parents lay, she saw nothing. There was no sign of elar whatsoever. She approached them, manipulating the elar in her own body and concentrating it at her fingertips.
“Ishtara, no.” Malak’s voice floated to her from the darkness. “They’re gone. There’s nothing you can do.”
Her fingers brushed a body, though she couldn’t tell if it was her mother’s or her father’s. There was nothing, no elar to draw the power flowing through her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks, and with a swipe of her finger, she forced some of her elar into the body. Before she could do anything else, a hand snatched her wrist and pulled her away. The speck of elar floating in the corpse sputtered and died.
“No, Ishtara.” Malak’s voice was gentle, yet firm. “There’s nothing of them left. Even if you could restore life to their bodies, it wouldn’t be them. The elar comes from you, and right now, all you feel is grief and sorrow. Would you curse them with that?”
“But …”
“Let’s go.”
She brought a hand to her face to wipe away the tears. The scent of blood hung heavily on her fingers, and with her eyes out, she didn’t even know whose it was. She tried to get up, but tripped over a body. She managed to catch herself on one of the legs of the statue of Rikel and used it to steady herself. Her hands ran up the statue until she felt a jagged edge where a piece of stone had broken off. Her father had spent days working on this statue. Every detail had been a labor, and now the Ontari had marred even that. She leaned her head against the cold stone and wept. They were gone. Sorrow flowed through her elar, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of her grief. She brought her hand to her heart and dragged the elar to her arms and into the statue. It floated there as it had in the corpse, but this time, Malak didn’t notice until she’d repeated the gesture three times. By then, the statue almost seemed to drink in her sorrow-filled power.
“No, Ishtara, you can’t.”
“What’s going on here?”
The voice came from the doorway, dripping with the condescension the Ontari always had for the Ragan. Rage blossomed in her chest. These were the people that had killed her parents. Anger joined the grief, and her elar flared and brightened even as it flowed into Rikel’s form. Ishtara turned to the soldier, glaring at him with empty eyes instead of the mask Malak had always warned her to wear.
“Eyeless!” His voice carried a mix of fear and hatred.
She tried to take a step toward him, but her legs suddenly lacked the strength to carry her. The ground shook, and the soldiers screamed. They rushed forward, moving past Ishtara. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was the sound of stone grinding on stone.
“Malak, we have to give her to the Ontari.”
“What Ontari, Vintul? Rikel’s statue killed every soldier in town.”
“They’ll be back.”
“But not soon. Any day now, we’ll get our first snow, and the Erantem Pass will be blocked until spring.”
“And then they’ll come.”
Ishtara’s vision returned slowly. Bands of elar floated across the darkness. She felt around, looking for her eyes. A patch of human-shaped elar appeared in front of her and a hand grabbed her wrist.
“They’re here.”
Malak guided her hand to a leather pouch on her belt. Glass clinked inside, and she pulled out a pair of smooth spheres. She started to put them in but paused.
“How do I tell which one goes where?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
She could practically hear him smiling and would’ve glared if she’d had eyes. Instead, she stared at her hand. Elar flowed through her fingers, though it seemed subdued. After a second, she saw twin spheres glowing faintly in her palm, though each was only visible to one socket. She put each in the socket that could see it and blinked as her vision returned. She braced herself, half expecting the headache, but it didn’t come. Malak stood over her with Mayor Vintul right behind him.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Malak’s eyes flashed to the mayor. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said. “We have matters to discuss.”
The mayor glanced at Ishtara. “But …”
“We won’t leave town,” Malak said. “You have my word.”
The mayor looked like he was about to argue, but Malak cleared his throat and reached up as if to pluck out his eyes. The mayor let out a short gasp and nodded even as he turned to scurry up the stairs.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up,” Malak said. “You poured a lot of elar into that statue.”
Ishtara tried to stand up, but it felt like her body was made of lead, and she struggled to lift herself. Malak offered her a hand, but even as she stood, her knees wobbled, and she sat back down on the bed.
“I didn’t mean to.” Her voice came out calm and emotionless. “When I saw my parents …”
“I was afraid of that.” Malak walked over to a table and retrieved a small plate with a piece of bread on it. He handed it to her. “How about now? What do you feel?”
Ishtara considered. Her parents were still dead. She could call up the memory and practically smell the blood, but it no longer held the same impact. There was a faint echo of sorrow, but it was a vague thing, more like a dream than an actual emotion. Everything else was just images and odors, and beneath all that, she felt a terrible emptiness.
“Nothing,” she said. “I know they’re gone, but …”
She let that hang, not quite sure what to say. Malak closed his eyes and shook his head before meeting her gaze again.
“You did more than put your emotions into that statue. You poured in your capacity to feel.”
“Oh.” She thought back to the sight of her parents. The pain had been overwhelming. “Good.”
Malak stared at her for several long seconds. “You can’t run from your emotions, Ishtara. Even if you could, that statue …”
Ishtara mentally sorted through the conversation she’d overheard as she was waking up. “It killed people?”
Malak gave her a slow nod. “You brought it to life, and it went after the soldiers. Within an hour, they were all dead. It’s nothing but grief and pain, and desires only to destroy the Ontari.”
“That’s what I was thinking when I passed out,” Ishtara said. “I wanted them all dead, and it freed us.”
“Killing a half dozen soldiers is different from stopping the army that will descend on us in spring. It’ll take more than one mindless killing machine to save us from them.”
“Can’t it defend the pass?” she asked.
The Erantem Pass was the only way into the valley housing Jonarch. In places it was so narrow, no more than two or three men could walk through it. If Rikel’s statue had really killed all the soldiers in town, surely it could hold the pass, but Malak was already shaking his head.
“I told you, there’s nothing in it but emotions. It can’t think enough to guard the pass. Vintul was right. They will come.”
“Is that why the mayor wanted to give me to them?”
“Don’t judge him too harshly. He’s
desperate and hopes that if we give them someone to blame, they’ll spare us.”
Ishtara nodded. She knew the idea should scare her, but there was only emptiness. It would’ve frightened her if she’d had the capacity for fear. Instead, she fell back on cold logic. “It makes sense. It is my fault. Do you think it’ll help?”
Malak stared at her, his mouth half open. After a second, he shook his head. “It won’t come to that. This’ll be a hard winter. We’ll blame the dead soldiers on that. We’ll have more than a few graves by spring anyway.”
“Won’t that be suspicious?”
“Yes, but not enough for them to destroy us. There is one thing we need to take care of first, unless we want them to brand us all as traitors.”
“The statue?”
“It’s standing in the middle of town like some sort of monument. I have no doubt it’ll kill any Ontari that comes near, but even it will fall if enough men come at it with hammers, and we’ll be worse off than before.”
She nodded and struggled to stand. Malak offered her his hand, but she waved him away. Her legs felt a little stronger, and she was able to keep her balance. “How are you going to stop it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I can, but you are another matter. You can take back what you gave it.”
“I thought that wasn’t possible.”
“Not once your elar mixes with the elar of something else, but the statue has no elar of its own.”
“Do I have to?” she asked. “It hurt so much.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and met her gaze. Unshed tears welled in his eyes. She knew she should feel something, but there was just the hollow void.
“You’ve lost more than anyone should, but you’re only half a person right now, Ishtara. You gave away too much of your elar. You need to get it back.”
“Won’t it replenish itself?”
Malak shook his head. “This isn’t like losing a little bit of blood. You’ve chopped off your right arm. You may eventually get used to it, but you’ll never be whole again.”
She stood there for a second, waiting for the impact of Malak’s words to hit her, but it never came. There was nothing more than the faintest echo of fear. The emptiness inside suddenly felt like a vast chasm threatening to consume everything else.
“What about joy?” she asked.
“What?”
“I poured my grief into the statue. Does that mean I’ll still be able to feel joy?”
“I’m sorry, but no. All emotions come from the same source, and that’s what you poured out. If you ever want to feel again, you need to reclaim it.”
The emptiness gnawed at her. Something was missing, and its lack weighed on her even more than her grief.
“Let’s go.”
“How did it get its head back?”
A crowd of men had gathered around the statue with hammers, but they kept their distance. Rikel stood in the center of the town square with one fist raised. She could still see the dried blood on its fingers. Though its eyes didn’t move, they looked oddly alive and sent chills down her spine.
“Once it finished with the guard in your father’s workshop, it picked up the head and put it on. Your elar spread through it, joining it to the body.”
She nodded, and reached up to remove her eyes, but they wouldn’t come out. She tried again, but it didn’t work. She looked at Malak.
“You’ve lost a lot of elar. Manipulating it won’t be so easy.”
“It was never easy,” she said under her breath.
It was half an hour before her eyes came free, and when they did, she gasped. The elar in the statue glowed brightly, and when she stared into it, the image of her dead parents filled her mind. She looked down at herself. Her own elar was dim by comparison. It jutted more than it flowed and reminded her of a river that had nearly dried out. She reached toward the statue, and the elar inside it pulsed. The emptiness inside her yearned for it. Her fingers felt cold stone, and a single strand jumped from the statue into her hand.
It was like touching a bolt of lightning.
Her parents were dead. They would never come back. Tears ran down her cheek, and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground. The statue’s elar still shone strongly. Her own had stabilized somewhat. The emptiness had lessened but hadn’t gone away. Compared to the pain, however, it seemed like such a small thing. She fumbled with her eyes until they clicked into her sockets, but her vision came back blurry. At first, she thought she’d put them in wrong, but then she realized it was tears. Malak offered her a hand up, and she took it. She shook her head.
“I can’t. It hurts too much.”
“Malak.” The mayor’s voice was quiet, and the word seemed almost dragged out of him. “I won’t pretend to know what this means, but that statue has to be destroyed. If a scout or messenger sees …”
“The snows will fall any day now,” Malak said. “Even if one were to arrive today, he’d still be stuck here for the winter. Give her time. She can take it a piece at a time if she has to.”
Ishtara shook her head. “No, I can’t. It’s too much.”
The mayor waved to the men with hammers, and they started forward. “I’m sorry, Malak. We can’t take the risk.”
“Then, you may as well kill her. We have time. There’s no need to do it until she can remove her elar.”
The piece of emotion she had reclaimed surged to life. It was only a pale shadow of normal feelings, but compared to the emptiness she’d felt before, it was like being plunged into a fire. That statue was the last remnant of her father. Rikel was the symbol of the freedom they’d all dreamed about, and Vintul wanted to destroy it.
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Malak said. “You’ll get your elar back first.”
“That’s not what I mean. The statue …”
“I’m sorry,” Mayor Vintul said. “We can’t have this up any longer. Do it.”
One of the men raised a hammer. Both Malak and Ishtara cried out, but the statue moved faster than she would’ve believed. Its hand closed around the head of the hammer. The man holding it tried to pull away, but the statue swung its arm and sent him flying into a house a dozen feet away. The other men charged, but Rikel moved with a liquid grace that defied it size. Most of the hammers hit only empty air, and the statue’s blows scattered the men. One landed a solid blow on its knee, and a chip of stone flaked off, but the statue didn’t seem to notice and delivered a powerful kick, throwing the man several feet away. He slammed against the inn and didn’t move.
“Malak, do something!” The mayor was dragging away the still form of one of the men.
Malak’s eyes were already out. His fingers danced across his skin. Ishtara tried to remove her own eyes to see what he was doing, but they wouldn’t come out. She gasped as Malak started to grow. In a few seconds, he’d nearly doubled in size, towering over even the statue. His arms bulged with muscles that hadn’t been there a minute ago. The ground trembled as he took a step toward Rikel. He swung a fist, but Rikel was too fast and caught Malak’s punch in its hand. Though the Eyeless stood a foot taller than the statue, Malak was only flesh and blood fighting against stone.
Rikel squeezed Malak’s fist. There was the sound of bones cracking. Malak cried out, as the statue delivered a powerful punch to his stomach. He doubled over before falling to the ground. Without thinking, Ishtara ran to stand between the statue and her master. He was still breathing but made no move to rise. The statue took a step toward them. Its emotions echoed inside of her, resonating with the emptiness. There was grief over the Ragan who had died because of the invaders, and there was also rage. It hated the Ontari, and it hated those who would bow to them by destroying the symbol of freedom her father had carved. It raised a hand to strike, but she stood before it. She reached up to her face, and this time, her eyes came free.
The elar in the statue pulsed and writhed. It called to the elar inside of her. She walked over to Ri
kel and laid a hand on a stone leg. She kept expecting its massive fist to slam down on her, but the attack never came. Once again, she tried to draw out the life she’d given it, but even the smallest piece multiplied her pain, and she had to stop after a few seconds. She looked around. Most of those who had tried to destroy the statue were still alive, their elar pulsing faintly. The statue had defeated them in a mindless rage, and it had done it in seconds.
“What could you do if you actually had a mind?” she asked.
She knew the answer. The statue could give them her father’s dream. Her dream. Once again, she started the transfer of elar, but this time, it was into the statue instead of out. She couldn’t stand to take the pain back into herself, and the statue was nothing but pain. She could add to it, though, and she poured in everything—every thought, every memory, the very essence of who she was.
Gradually, her sight faded, as the elar in her body poured into the stone. At the same time, however, she saw the world in muted shades of gray. Her body sat limp at her feet. Malak stirred. Then, with horror, he looked up at her stony face. She nodded at him. He tried to say something, but she turned away and walked out of town, every step like a thunder crash. Though many stared, no one moved to stop her, and before long, she passed into the woods outside the city.
Malak stood at the grave of Ishtara’s parents. Few had attended their funeral. No one wanted to be associated with the people the Ontari had named traitors. He knelt down and ran his fingers over the dirt.
“I’m sorry. I would’ve saved her if I could have.”
He removed his eyes and twined the elar in the ground. Grass sprouted, and before long, his nostrils filled with the smell of flowers. He gave them strength enough to survive the winter. It was all he could do. He replaced his eyes and rose. He thought he saw movement in the nearby woods, and stared into the trees for a long time. Though he didn’t see any sign of it now, the figure in the forest had stood at least nine feet tall. He inclined his head, though he didn’t know if anyone was watching.
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