Sisters of Shadow and Light

by Sara B. Larson

  And of course, it was in that moment of distraction that the door finally opened and my mother marched into the room, her hair perfectly coifed, her dress pressed, and her shoulders thrown back—the strong, dominant woman I’d always known entering the room, not the weak, broken thing of the last week since Zuhra’s disappearance.

  “Good morning,” she announced loudly to everyone, lifting her chin and ignoring the twin looks of shock on Barloc’s and Sami’s faces. Sami recovered more quickly than Halvor’s uncle and jumped to her feet.

  “Good morning, Madam. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you, Sami.” Mother’s eyes met mine across the room, hers widening slightly when she noticed Halvor sitting so close, holding my hand. “I know you’ve all been trying to get Zuhra back and I … I’ve decided to help. If I can.”

  If Sami and Barloc had looked shocked before, their twin expressions could only have been described as flabbergasted now. Even Halvor’s mouth fell open beside me.

  I smiled at her, encouraging.

  “My … husband”—she nearly tripped over the word, but continued on—“told me quite a few things about the Paladin, this gateway, and their home, before he … before he left.” She almost shrank into herself again as she spoke, but when I stood, releasing Halvor’s hand, and walked toward her, she reset her shoulders and exhaled, visibly regaining control of herself. “I hope some of it might help.”

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand in mine, squeezing it tightly.

  She stared down at our clasped hands for several seconds, then nodded, a little of that old stubborn spark back in her eyes. “I hope it helps … I hope we can get her back.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and then closed my eyes for a moment. “Me, too.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ZUHRA

  I stood sandwiched between my father and grandfather, trepidation turning my hands cold. I crossed my arms and pushed my fingers beneath them to try and warm them—and to hide my trembling. The council was gathered around the circular table; this time Raidyn had insisted I be allowed to stay for the proceedings, and despite Ederra’s protests his request had been granted.

  I was still stunned at the sudden turn in events. I’d gone from having only a thin thread of hope that Inara had survived to almost irrefutable proof that she was alive—and that she was trying to get through the gateway. When I looked at Raidyn, across the table from me, memories of our morning flight rushed back up, the heat of his touch, the brush of his lips against my face, the hints at his past that he’d given me … but if the council finally decided to go to the gateway and open it, to keep Inara from doing it herself and allowing more rakasa through to Vamala—or the king’s garrisons to come here—then none of it would matter by this time tomorrow. I would be back home and he … he would be here, with Sharmaine, and Naiki, and Loukas, and the morning flight would be exactly what I’d decided it had to be—a memory to cling to and nothing more.

  “This council will come to order immediately.” Ederra stood and pounded on the table with a gavel, the sharp rap breaking over the rumble of voices in the room. “We have been called together again because the matter previously decided upon has new … developments that require us to revisit this motion.” Her gaze remained forcefully focused on the Paladin sitting around the table, refusing to stray to her family standing together off to the side, watching silently. My father’s arms were also folded, tension radiating off him in waves, his jaw set as he watched his mother. My grandfather’s expression was more musing, softer, as he looked at his wife, a deep sadness in his eyes that I only partially understood. They’d lost their daughter to my world, and nearly their son, leaving them childless for a time. Though he had been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, I wondered, if given the choice, whether he would willingly allow any of us to go back to Vamala again, knowing we’d never return. If they agreed to let me and my father go through, that would be the cost. We would never see Visimperum—or anyone here—ever again. The risk of opening the gateway was just too high.

  “Please report on what you witnessed,” Ederra commanded another female Paladin. She looked to be about my father’s age, the sides of her head shaved, all except a braid down the center of her skull that continued to her waist. She was dressed all in black riding leathers, and was still dirty from her flight. This must have been Sachiel, the general who Sharmaine had told us had witnessed the flare of power at the gateway.

  Sachiel stood, and nodded at the other council members. “As many of you are already aware, my battalion was on duty monitoring rakasa activity in the outer lands when we felt a surge of power from the vicinity of the gateway. We rushed there as quickly as possible to find rakasa amassing in the area, obviously drawn by the power surge as well. We weren’t able to land, not wanting to engage with the monsters, but it was quite obvious even from the sky that somehow Paladin power was flowing through the gateway. It hasn’t opened—yet—but it is definitely unstable.”

  “Thank you, Sachiel, you may be seated,” Ederra said the moment she finished, her voice clipped. “In light of this new information, the motion to reopen the gateway has been submitted for reconsideration.”

  “Ederra, if I may, I have something to say.” Raidyn pushed back his chair and stood, directly across from my formidable grandmother, power and purpose emanating from him. My heart swelled at the sight of him and suddenly, as much as I wanted to get back to my sister, a part of my heart felt as though it were splintering. Without waiting for her permission, he continued, “In our last meeting, we established that your granddaughter Inara is in residence at the citadel in Vamala and that she possesses immense untapped and untrained power. If she is now consciously attempting to use it to open the gateway, this poses a great threat to the safety of both worlds.”

  Ederra speared him with her icy glare. “Young man, you have a seat on this council because of the untimely and tragic death of both of your parents, but until you gain more experience and wisdom you are more of a—”

  “Ederra.” All eyes turned to my grandfather with a low ripple of shock, leading me to believe his interruption was unheard of.

  Her words to Raidyn echoed through my mind alongside a swell of sheer grief through the gossamer chord of connection between us, stretched to where he stood across from me.

  “He is a full member of the council, and deserves your respect. Let him speak.”

  The look she aimed at my grandfather sent a shudder down my spine, but she nodded once, a short, violent movement that spoke of retribution to befall him later.

  Raidyn inclined his chin toward Alkimos for interceding on his behalf, but somehow still retained all his dignity when he continued, “I vote that we immediately move to action—to open the gateway and allow Zuhra and Adelric to return to their family and their home, as they wish. I believe the only inducement Inara would have to attempt to open the gateway is to reach her sister—as their bond seems to be unspeakably strong. If her sister were to return to her, I believe she would have no cause to attempt to open it again—and by allowing Adelric to return to his family, he would be able to train his daughter and make certain she is not a threat to us or Vamala.”

  Ederra looked at Raidyn silently for a long, tense moment.

  “I second his motion.” Another Paladin also stood, an older man, who looked to be my grandparents’ age. Ederra blinked.

  “I third it,” Sachiel agreed. “I was there—that gateway is not stable and the rakasa are swarming it. If we don’t do something to stop this, we might be looking at a full invasion again.”

  “Then let them invade,” Ederra suddenly burst out, slamming her gavel down with a thud.

  “And allow hundreds if not thousands of people to be slaughtered by them?” someone else burst out.

  “We made a vow to protect them,” the older man who had seconded Raidyn’s motion reminded everyone.

  “And how did they repay us?” Ederra looked to him first, then
slowly let her burning gaze travel round the table. “The humans turned on us. Hunted us down and murdered as many Paladin as they could. They tried to invade our world and bring their destruction to our lands! That’s the thanks we got for our vow to help. I gave everything to them and I will not do it again.” Her knuckles on the gavel were white but her neck was splotched red.

  Watching her, hearing the suppressed pain in her voice, drove home the stories my father had told me in a way I hadn’t let happen before that moment. It was one thing to think about her losing her daughter, to have almost lost my father, too … it was another to hear the taut grief in her voice, to see the agony-induced anger flash in her eyes. My grandfather suddenly put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side with a gentle squeeze. At first, I thought it was to lend me his support, but then I felt the tremble in his hand, and I realized it was partially for his own comfort, too. I’d only known him for a week, but I’d already come to love him. And I knew he loved his wife—that he, too, had suffered and lost his loved ones beside her. What made the difference between his reaction to it and hers? What had made my mother become what she was, as opposed to how my father had dealt with their separation—after losing his sister, and his family?

  “You know we need to do this, Ederra,” Sachiel said. “Yes, they did terrible things to us. But we did this to them—we brought our horrors to their world. We can’t decide how they react to us—we can only keep more innocent people from suffering.”

  “They managed to murder plenty of Paladin when they put their minds to it. Let them turn that determination against the rakasa instead. We stay here. I will not lose any more Paladin to their malice. And we have no proof she can open the gateway again. If she failed this time, I doubt she can repeat the event.” Ederra sat down, apparently done with the discussion.

  A few council members murmured to each other. Raidyn remained standing, his face a mask. Our eyes met and a fist of regret clenched my stomach. I wished there was a way to get back to my sister without losing the chance to know him … to be near him. Even if he never came to care about me in the way I was afraid I was beginning to feel about him. But the only way to Inara was to sacrifice the friendships and family I’d found here.

  I reached up and squeezed my grandfather’s hand and then stepped forward, out of his embrace. I cleared my throat and hesitantly began. “Ederra…”

  She remained staring forward, ignoring me, as she had for the entire time I’d been in Visimperum.

  I exhaled, my heart thumping in my chest, and took another step forward.

  “Grandmother,” I tried again, the word a twist of pain in my chest. She flinched but kept her eyes on the rest of the council. “I … I know you’ve been hurt. I know you don’t want to look at me, or talk to me, because … because I make you remember things you don’t want to, I guess. But … you’re not the only one hurting. My sister … I’ve always been the one to protect her, to help her. The night she was born my father disappeared and the hedge you left behind trapped us in your citadel, blocking us off from both worlds. When he never returned, my mother thought he’d left us deliberately. She never recovered from that shock and she can barely stand to look at Inara, let alone take care of her.” I felt my father stiffen beside me; I didn’t dare glance at him to see what my announcement had done to him. I should have warned him, I should have told him, but it was too late now. “I was afraid she’d died in the first rakasa attack, but now I know she’s alive and I’m begging you … please, let me go back to my sister. Raidyn is right. If I return, she won’t try to open the gateway again.”

  Ederra finally turned to me, her unblinking gaze cutting straight through me. “Do you understand what you’re asking? It’s no small feat to open the gateway for more than a few seconds. Rakasa are drawn to usage of our power and they are already swarming the area, according to Sachiel. Paladin could die attempting to let you back through—rakasa could break through no matter how hard we try to stop them. This is not merely a question of whether or not I want to let you go back home.”

  I swallowed, my knees trembling beneath the force of her full focus on me. “I … I don’t really know what it entails,” I admitted. “But if Inara opens it on her own again, the consequences would be far worse than if you were there to control it, wouldn’t they? Maybe … maybe one battalion could create a diversion of some sort to draw off as many of the rakasa as possible?”

  “My battalion could do that,” Sachiel immediately volunteered. “If we concentrated our efforts about a mile away, it would be close enough to capture the majority of the rakasas’ attention in the area, but far enough to clear the way to the gateway—at least briefly.”

  “My battalion could protect the gateway while the council opens it.” My father stepped up beside me, taking my hand in his. His palm was cold, but he squeezed my fingers tightly. “While my daughter and I hurry through. Then you could immediately close it behind us.”

  A muscle at the corner of my grandmother’s eye ticked and it looked—for just a moment—as though her lip trembled. But with a clenching of her jaw it stopped. “After all these years, that is still your wish? To leave?”

  The silence in the room was fraught with tension as all those assembled looked to my father—with me at his side.

  “I have never wanted to have to choose between my family and home here and the one I left in Vamala,” my father began slowly, his voice heavy. “But just as you made a vow to protect Vamala, at all costs, I made a vow to love, cherish, and protect my wife. And instead, I abandoned her—whether I chose to or not, it doesn’t matter. She knows no different—only that I left and never returned. My daughters were raised without me … without their father … never knowing how much I … how much I loved…” His voice broke, and he had to stop to clear his throat, his hand shaking even through the tightness of his grip on mine. “I don’t want to leave you, Mother. But I have to go back to them. Please.”

  My grandmother’s grip on the gavel slackened and she visibly shrank in on herself, her gaze on the table. “Fine.” The word was so quiet, I wasn’t sure if I’d even truly heard her speak.

  “Ederra votes yes.” Sachiel jumped on the chance. “Everyone else in favor?”

  A chorus of ayes went around the table.

  “Any opposed?”

  She barely even waited a beat before she announced, “The motion passes. We will begin planning immediately and depart as soon as possible. I suggest you both go pack your belongings and say your goodbyes,” she said to me and my father.

  A rush of relief washed over me. I was going back. Inara was alive and I was going back to her.

  “It passed,” my father repeated quietly, dumbfounded. “I’m going home.”

  Raidyn stood still, his gaze on me, a tall, stoic beacon in the midst of a sudden flurry of activity and movement all around him. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. A sharp pang hit me, right between my ribs, below the suddenly strained beating of my heart. We were leaving—going to open the gateway and return home.

  And then I would never see him again.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The light of the luxem magnam danced in front of my eyes, washing over me. That same pull I’d felt before still there, tugging at my navel—and my heart. But no matter how hard I’d tried while I was in Visimperum, I’d never been able to access any Paladin power. And now I was leaving in the morning and I’d never be able to come here again—to feel this again. As excited as I was to see Inara, even to see my mother (and her reaction when she saw Adelric), I couldn’t deny the pang of regret when I thought of never coming back.

  “I wondered if I’d find you here.”

  I turned at the sound of my grandfather’s voice. He walked slowly toward me, his eyes on the lustrous light beyond the balustrade where I leaned.

  “This has always been my favorite place to come when I needed to think,” he continued, stopping beside me.

  We were silent for a moment, standing side by sid
e, as if he knew I needed time to gather my thoughts. I had so many questions, and so little time to ask them …

  “I never did find my power like you promised I would,” I finally said, surprising a laugh out of him.

  “Oh, Zuhra.” He put his hand over mine. “I am going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too.”

  “I wish there was a way for you to be able to go home and still be a part of my life. I would have liked to be able to get to know you better.” His fingers curled around mine. “I knew I had two grandchildren, but I never let myself truly think about it. You have to understand, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to meet either of you—to be a grandfather. And now I … I find that I quite like it.”

  I was shocked to find myself blinking back tears.

  “I’m coming with you to the gateway tomorrow,” he added. “And so is your grandmother.”

  “She is?” That took me by surprise.

  “She won’t admit it, but I think she’s hoping to have the chance to meet Inara too. Or maybe just to say goodbye to you—in her own way.”

  “She can’t stand me.”

  “No, Zuhra,” he gently disagreed. “She’s afraid of letting herself love you. Especially now that we’re going to lose you again. Something that I think she knew was inevitable, no matter how hard she fought against it.”

  I was silent for a moment, digesting this. “I wish there was a way for me to go home without losing you … I wish I had more time,” I admitted.

  “Life is full of lost time. I suppose one of the best lessons we can learn is to never put off for tomorrow what we can say or do today—because that chance may never come again. It never came with our daughter Anael, and for so many years we thought we’d never get that chance again with Adelric. When he returned to us, it was a day of rejoicing for his mother and me, but our joy was only possible because of the pain it caused both our son and the family he left behind. The pain it caused you.” My grandfather shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Listen to me ramble on. The musings of an old man.” He patted my hand and then straightened. “I should go—there is much we have to do before leaving tomorrow. I suppose I wanted one last chance to speak to you alone, to tell you that … that I am proud of you. And … that I love you.”