by S D Simper
When she burst through the waves, her wings spread wide. She hardly noticed the pain as her tail split in two. Oh, the air felt marvelous. A glorious sensation of freedom flowed through her—not her own, though. These were Staella’s feelings, her own elation filling Tallora with joy.
The storm raged on, but the combatants stilled in her presence. High in the air, Tallora gazed upon the gargantuan whirlpool capable of swallowing a city, saw the remaining ships still battling the great leviathan. That golden eye peered straight up, fixed upon her. The two battling deities watched, their own tempestuous battle having waned in her company.
Then, Staella dove, and Tallora, a stranger in her own body, watched that eye grow ever closer. Tentacles flailed, daring to swipe at the Goddess of Stars, but at their touch, Staella blinked out of sight. The world shifted as Staella crossed the barriers between worlds seamlessly, from here to what her possessor’s knowledge said was Celestière, and back again, only to repeat it at Yu’Khrall’s next swipe. In rapid succession, she blinked in and out, the world changing back and forth from peaceful and white to the raging storm, and when the eye came too close, it vanished before they could touch—
Then Staella reappeared beneath him, in the waves. Tallora’s tail reformed as countless tentacles swirled around them in a violent mass. Search with me, said the voice in her head, and Tallora kept her eyes peeled as Staella navigated the undulating mass, blinking in and out as necessary—a sensation both nauseating and invigorating.
The black mass seemed endless, and Tallora swore her eyes had dulled, when a flash of light beside her gave her pause. Staella approached, finding a wispy wing poking out from a curled mass of tentacles. She touched it.
They appeared in a different realm, one filled with pure nothingness, only white, endless mist. Ilune collapsed to the ground, coughing as water ejected from her vessel’s lungs, her earthly coil a stolen one. Evidence of tears stained her face, and an outpouring of love shook Tallora, pained her. Staella gathered her daughter in her arms, and Tallora felt relief unparalleled, as well as peace. Ilune gazed up at her, her countenance twisting into an exhausted, mischievous smirk, and Tallora felt that she’d adored this smile for thousands of years. “I should have known you’d come.”
“Are you well enough to rejoin the fight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Staella helped Ilune rise, then kept her grip on her hand as water suddenly consumed them. She held Ilune to her body, expertly dodging the array of tentacles, blinking in and out, until she finally left the mass.
She burst into the air, then released Ilune, whose wings spread to catch her. “Lure Morathma away,” Tallora said, though it was not Tallora, and the sensation was still so strange. “I shall greet Yu’Khrall.”
“But, mother, I could—”
“No.” Tallora felt love unparalleled, yes, but also vast anguish for the daughter her goddess adored. It churned her stomach, so deep it welled. “You’ve done enough damage to him.”
Their eyes met, and Ilune grit her jaw and nodded. She flew away, toward the tumultuous battle of fire high above. Staella, however went to the leviathan, stopping above his great eye. He flailed at her approach, his tentacles whipping at her form—but Staella floated serenely, radiating peace as she blinked in and out of the world to avoid him. Tallora swore the storm calmed, that the battle beyond them stilled. Even the whirlpool slowed.
Staella said, “Yu’Khrall, Son of Onias, I weep for you.”
The leviathan spoke for the first time; his tentacles docile, though rising high enough to match her. “Goddess Staella.”
“Let me help you,” Staella said, and it was a whisper, for everything she said was soft and hushed, yet it echoed far and wide enough for the whole world to hear.
“You . . . cannot.”
Staella gently floated down, close enough to show good faith. “I am a breaker of curses, a savior to those in bondage, a soother of spirits. Let me help.”
The tentacles followed, ominous as they lingered. “You . . . You shall only imprison me again.”
“There must be justice for what you’ve done,” Staella said, and sorrow filled Tallora at the words—her own, and her goddess’. “But there must be justice for you too. The one who hurt you has served her penance, yet the wrong was never rectified.”
A single, massive tentacle came close, and Staella touched it gently, stroked a soft line down the scaled skin. Tallora felt . . . pity. Pity and charitable love from a part of her soul she knew was not her own, yet it was so real, so vivid, this desire to help a monster who had destroyed her people.
Staella kept a hand on his tentacle, coaxing it down as she floated closer to the water’s surface. The whirlpool hadn’t ceased, but it actively slowed, no longer fueled by the orb’s power. Her feet touched the water’s surface, and she walked as though weightless toward the eye of the beast. It watched, that golden gaze as wide as she was tall. With one hand still holding his tentacle, Staella reached her other toward him.
. . . and took his curse upon herself.
Oh, it burned, pure fire in her veins, and Tallora fought to not scream. Within her, a hollow welled in her stomach, rapidly expanding, never ceasing, boring away all notions of sanity and thought and driving her mad.
Staella stood tall, merely shutting her eyes, but though Tallora housed her, it took all her will to not double over and weep. It was anguish; it was pain; it was agony; by every god, she was starving—
It ceased.
Tallora breathed as Staella did, her godly blood burning the final vestiges of the curse’s essence away.
Before her, Yu’Khrall stilled, his tentacles slowly returning to the sea. He said nothing at all, but soon it was only the tentacle gently held in Staella’s grasp . . . and then a second.
He offered her Yaleris’ orb, secured in the center of one of the massive suckers on his appendage.
Staella shook her head. “That is yours by right. You slew Yaleris.”
“There must be a penance.”
In his leviathan rumble, though it reverberated against her bones, Tallora heard regret. “It is yours to defend now,” Staella said, “against any who might try to steal it.”
“I . . . agree.”
That great eye looked beyond her—when Staella turned, Neoma approached, her wings supporting her as she levitated above the ocean’s surface. “Grant him a gentle cage,” Staella said softly, and Yu’Khrall did not move or argue. “I will help.”
Neoma offered a hand, and when Staella accepted it, Tallora felt only Dauriel’s touch. Staella released Yu’Khrall, then the duo poured their power into one brilliant burst of light and let it settle and coat the leviathan.
Yu’Khrall did not fight. The spell was painless, Tallora knew instinctively, and she watched as the great leviathan became smaller.
Not tiny, but when the steady shrinking ceased, he was far from city-sized. “You shall stand watch over the orb,” Neoma said, echoing her wife’s sentiments, “as well as the Ruins of Stelune. A hundred years for every life you consumed—and then you shall be free.”
Yu’Khrall’s rumbling voice no longer frightened her. “So it shall be.” He sank into the sea, his body disappearing by slow degrees, soon leaving only bubbles.
As the sea settled into tranquility, Tallora saw the graveyard the battle had become—shattered remains of ships scattered across the sea, heroes who knew the futility of this fight yet chose to come along all the same. Beside her, Neoma glowed, Rulira’s orb held in her hand, and her smile was Dauriel’s—wicked and all she adored. “How do you feel?” Tallora asked, upon her own volition.
Neoma’s smile softened, adoration in her gaze. “Like I can go a little longer.”
They flew up into the sky, hand in hand.
Ilune waited, and across from her was Morathma himself, the final remains of mud and water falling into the sea, revealing his angelic body hosted by the Speaker. Tallora understood it now, Staella’s own knowledge
combined with hers—that his power lay in the elements of earth, but that Yu’Khrall had granted him more.
“I concede,” Morathma said, his hands held out in defense.
“I’d still happily fight,” Ilune spat, but Neoma floated up beside her and placed a hand upon her shoulder.
“Oh, that I could kill you in this realm,” Neoma said, her sneer all Dauriel yet it truly was the goddess who spoke. “Crawl back into your hole.”
But Morathma did not. Instead, he looked to Staella, who slowly turned her head away. “My deepest condolences, for the tragedy of your and Tortalga’s people,” he said softly, so kind and sincere, and the rage filling Tallora was certainly her own, but something quiet simmered with it—anger that was not her own; anger that was ancient. “None of this was meant to hurt you. I simply did what I had to.”
Tallora fought to seize control, to yell and scream and fight Morathma, but a gentle voice inside her head said, Say nothing at all. Do not even look at him.
Tallora obeyed. She simply stared upon the horizon.
It is the only way to deal with people like him. Give him nothing.
She remained there, floating, until Morathma’s light went out. When Tallora did turn, a mortal man, already cold and stiff, fell into the ocean.
Far beyond, on the horizon, the shadow of the Morathan ship sailed away.
A few ships remained, and the Triage flew to the nearest one. Ilune settled upon the deck, disheveled but in good spirits as Neoma joined her. “Did she die?” she asked Neoma, and Tallora scoffed at the bluntness of it.
“No,” Neoma replied. “I did not strike the final blow, as I’d intended. What power I did use, Staella supplemented. Dauriel shall live.”
Neoma slowly shrunk, her wings blinking out of sight, her light fading out until it was only Dauriel on the deck. The orb plopped onto the ground; Dauriel fell into Ilune’s arms, groaning as she was led to the floor. “Oh, I hurt,” Dauriel said, and she puked on the deck.
“There, there,” Ilune said amidst her heaving. “A long nap, and you’ll be fine.”
Tallora.
The voice whispered inside her head.
I am all that anchors you here now.
Tallora floated down, her wings as much a part of her as anything else. When Dauriel met her eye, those beautiful silver ones widened, as though noticing her for the first time. “Tallora . . ?”
Tallora blinked, and with it came a welling of tears. “Dauriel . . .”
With Ilune’s help, Dauriel managed to stand. She stumbled forward, her shaking legs holding as she gazed upon Tallora’s godly visage. “No, you can’t—” Dauriel’s lips trembled, a sob stealing her words.
“Duty over heart. It was the price to save my people,” Tallora said, and a heartbreaking sob tore from the empress’ throat. “Dauriel, my love—”
Her words cut off at Dauriel’s embrace. With no hesitation to hug her mother goddess, she clung to Tallora with all her might, as though it might hold her here. “You can’t go. I . . . can’t go on without you.”
“Yes, you can,” Tallora pled, though her own anguish steadily rose. “You’re so strong Dauriel. Every day of your life, you fight to live, and by Staella’s Grace—don’t give up now. Tallora’s own tears fell, her hold on Dauriel an anchor. “You’re going to do great things. I want you to. I want you to live. Don’t view it as a lifetime without me—simply one day. Take it one day at a time.” Her lip trembled; she struggled to speak, but each passing second was worth more than gold. “When we see each other again in the Beyond, I want to hear about every moment of your beautiful, brilliant life. Please.”
Tallora . . .
“I have to go,” Tallora said, and though Dauriel trembled, her hold softened. She placed a lingering kiss upon her wife’s brow, this final gaze between them Tallora’s most precious possession. “I love you, Dauriel.”
“You are the love of my life,” Dauriel replied, but then she shut her eyes, tears falling fast. “I’ll make you proud. I swear it.”
Tallora felt a new embrace around her—Staella herself beckoning her home. She followed.
All the world turned to light.
“Tallora . . ..”
If Tallora didn’t open her eyes, daylight wouldn’t come. She cherished the dark embrace of night, of her warm bed and pillow.
“Tallora, you sweet thing—open your eyes.”
“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, but then the blankets drew tighter around her, squeezing gently. The strangeness of it coaxed her to open a single eye.
She saw a world of white mist—the very same as when she had aided in saving Ilune. How long had it been? Had she even slept? Tallora groaned and held her head, groggy as her memories slowly returned.
She realized, then, she was being held. Gasping, she looked up to see the smiling face of Staella, her beloved goddess. “Your soul is safe with me, but it is normal to be disoriented.”
Tallora managed to nod. Staella sat within an endless void of mist. “Where are we?”
“The Beyond. I did not want you to linger here for long, but . . .” Staella looked at her oddly. Not frowning, but with furrowed brows. “You did not tell me you had two lives within you.”
Taken aback, Tallora said, “What do you mean?”
“To channel me stole all the life you have, but there was a second one, simply waiting, not a drop of it spent. As for how it got there, you tell me.”
Tallora sat up; she had her tail and realized she could float freely in this strange realm, as weightless as in water.
A second life? Tallora swam in slow circles, unsure of what to make of any of it, thinking back upon her life and remembered . . . “Harbinger,” she whispered, realization settling in. “The price for me to transform from mermaid to human was a life—Harbinger gave me a lifetime.”
Staella smiled. “That would do it.”
“That means I can go back, right?” Tallora’s hope spiked, but while Staella did not disagree, regret showed in her features.
“The price must still be paid. A lifetime has gone, and while I can do many things, the realms have rules even I must follow. You have to choose.”
Tallora frowned, nervous at her tone. “Choose what?”
“You must choose which life and what you will be—a mermaid or a human girl.”
Breath hitching, Tallora’s limbs grew cold, though it must have been in her head—she had no body here.
The path diverged. And now, she could truly never go back.
Her future beneath the sea had become shattered glass, but with it came life anew—the chance to rebuild her people. She had a duty; she had died to save them and give them their lives back. She thought of her home and all its beauty, how the upper world paled to the great coral reefs and rainbows of fish. She thought of Kal, her friend, of her momma, who had passed.
Home was lost, but it could be found again. The ocean remained vast and beautiful, and her people would find a way. The Onians had already offered to help. For a brilliant moment, hope filled her at the thought—the world had ended, yet her people still lived. What better way to honor the goddess who had saved them than to finally become a priestess? The Temple of Staella had been decimated in the calamity, and Tallora might be the only one left.
But Dauriel . . .
Tallora’s face fell into her hands, weeping to think of her. She remembered their goodbye; and oh, the change in Dauriel before that great and final battle. She wanted to live, and by Staella’s Grace—Tallora’s heart soared for that.
She had made a vow, to love her forever. And sometimes loving Dauriel meant to hurt alongside her, but oh, how fiercely her empress loved in return.
To live in Solvira would be a difficult life, the duties of being crowned empress more than she could fathom here in the Beyond, and her very soul shirked at the thought. But home would be a life of strife as well, rebuilding all she’d lost. Duty said to become a priestess and bless the people she loved. But her heart . . .
Two paths diverged, and both would be difficult, rewarding lives.
“What would you choose?” Tallora whispered, and though she sought to cry, her tears didn’t fall. She had none.
Staella watched her as only a loving mother could, with understanding in her eyes. “I would choose what brought me joy.”
Tallora’s jaw trembled at the thought.
“Forget your duty, and forget your heart. What do you want more than anything? This is the chance to start anew.”
Tallora knew, but she couldn’t say it. It felt like a betrayal.
Staella’s smile held all the kindness in the realms, and Tallora cherished it so. “Once upon a time, I had all the world at my feet. I was a goddess to a land of people who adored me, embraced in the arms of a man who loved me, and held duties I enjoyed immensely. I was the Goddess of Stars, the Light that Glitters above the Desert Sands. My life should have been perfect, but I knew in my quiet moments that something was wrong. Meeting Neoma . . .” She looked wistfully at the sky, reminiscence in her countenance. “Meeting her wasn’t instant clarity, but I began seeing the cracks in my perfect world, all the things I overlooked so I could be happy in a life I hadn’t chosen. The price of compliance—sometimes you’re young, you let life happen, and others make decisions for you.”
When Staella shut her eyes, Tallora saw only peace. “I made the first decision of my life—to leave my duty behind and love Neoma. I think you know the story is more complicated than that, but that’s the part that matters: I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I saw the future I wanted and grasped it tight. I’ve never let it go, and while my life is not perfect, it brings me unparalleled joy.” Staella looked again to her, quiet peace on her beautiful face. “What do you want, Tallora? What will you grasp and never let go?”
Tallora thought a moment, imagined leaving her beloved world behind to stay at Dauriel’s side and be the empress consort—for what other option was there? The title was not at all what she wanted, but she couldn’t betray her marriage vow, just as she couldn’t abandon Dauriel if there were any hope to stay. But though she could plead for Dauriel to live for her, it cured nothing. Dauriel was hurting, bearing shackles of gold and a crown she’d been destined for, yet never truly given the choice to—