by Rowan Rook
Riksharre's location, on the other hand, was no longer a secret—the colonies' coordinates had been one of the king's conditions for relative peace. There was a pathway now, running from Hazza to the colony. The lakeside village was more heavily guarded than it had been on her first visit, but allowed a few Human visitors at a time inside after a search to ensure they were unarmed. Havventhale's major colony, Ledderlot, was also publicly unveiled, and rumors suggested an entirely new colony would be established in eastern Lusanthine to house the species' gradually recovering population. Perhaps Lyrum were hoping exposure would slowly convince Humans that their lives weren't so different, after all.
Shakaya snorted. Not so long ago, no one would have believed the current Auratessa was possible. Least of all, her.
When they arrived at the colony, she pushed herself out of the carriage and stared blankly at the familiar foliage barrier while the guards searched her for weapons. She'd have to leave her chakram and dagger behind.
Auratessa was changing, but she would never be a part of it. She had to sacrifice her own chance at happiness to protect a world lost to her—a world that had never shown her anything but cruelty.
She followed Jeriko silently when the colony's guards allowed them inside and escorted them to the Anwell house. She carried one urn in her arms. Jeriko carried two more. Her gaze drifted down to the vase. If she'd been solemn before, now she was nearly as dead as her old friend. The war inside her head and the strained solitude in which it forced her to live had sucked her dry. There was nothing left.
...Sometimes she could hardly remember what Amaranth's face had looked like. Sometimes she would refuse to look at her own in the mirror. Her days as a student, a soldier, a real person. Those days felt as if they belonged to another lifetime.
There were some nights when she wondered if her memories were even honest—perhaps they lied as much as everyone in her life always had. Perhaps she'd never been a soldier. Perhaps the urn was filled with fireplace soot. Perhaps she'd had nothing to do with empowering the Author. Perhaps it was all nothing but an elaborate story the Butterfly had come up with to turn her into their so-called guardian.
Shakaya chuckled beneath her breath. No. Perhaps her grasp on reality was slipping.
Nonetheless, when she and Jeriko arrived in the burned garden behind the Anwell house and finally said goodbye to the two siblings, she found herself clasping her hands in a silent prayer to something that certainly wasn't the Author. Her vision misted as she watched the ashes fly on the summer breeze. It was an unfamiliar feeling.
Jeriko must have noticed the shimmer in her empty eyes. "I'm going to go pay my respects to Tayla...would you like to stay here and have some time alone?"
Shakaya nodded weakly, and the Overseer departed, making his way to the place where Tayla Wylan had once lived. "Take as long as you want," he offered. "I'll meet you at the carriage."
Shakaya stood alone in the garden that had once belonged to the woman who'd set her home ablaze, the woman who'd taken the lives of Emmerich and Monoka Johanne. But a woman was exactly what the murderer had been. One person. An enemy soldier who had a family and children—dear children—of her own to love and protect.
Illya Anwell hadn't been an entire species.
Shakaya stared down at the mossy cobblestone, her body alive with shivers.
She forced herself to raise her gaze and glance around. The garden was much the same as it had been two years ago. It was overgrown, but occasional blooms peered out from between the thorns. The amaranth flowers her friend had named himself after still clung to life above the pond. Roses still lined the charred fence. Lilacs still beckoned toward the home where a family had once lived.
"Ama," her lips moved on their own.
Why was that Lyrum so precious to you, anyway?
She usually ignored every word the Author said as best she could, but this time, she answered, "You say that you created Auratessa, and yet you can't understand something so simple as that?"
The Author didn't answer.
Shakaya turned to return to the carriage.
I could bring him back, you know.
She stopped. A few moments passed before she forced her legs to move again.
Don't act so surprised—it's just like all my other offers which you so rudely ignore. If you would rather have him over riches or power, then I can arrange that, if you'll simply let me go.
She took another step forward.
I can rewrite him into the world. She could feel the thing grin—the irony wasn't lost on it. In fact, I can do better than that. I can guarantee your freedom. I can help you. You can have the fresh start the two of you wished for. She heard a laugh that wasn't hers. Maybe one day you could even have your cozy little house in Havventhale.
Her eyes burned. She found herself turning back to look at the nostalgic garden. She swallowed. "...He was old."
I can give him a new body that will last as long as a Human's. The thing inside her lit up with amusement. Hell, he alone could become what he wanted to create. You can grow old together.
Shakaya's eyes fell on the ribbon tied to her wrist. The edges were frayed, but the color remained familiar and vibrant. Her stiff fingers fiddled with the bow. "I wouldn't want a copy who looks or acts like him. That wouldn't mean anything."
She felt the second being in her body surge with excitement. It had taken her concerns as a sign of interest. Perhaps they were. That isn't what you'd get. You'd get him. The domains of the worlds beyond this one aren't mine, but I can still pluck out a soul and pull it back here. After all, he and so many Butterflies wanted to bring so many people back. I don't want to waste too much of my strength, but just one person should be simple enough. I can return him to you. And I can offer you a second chance at the life you wanted.
Shakaya said nothing, but her feet stayed in place.
She reminded herself again of something she'd learned well: Trying to cheat death would only lead to more of it in the end. The Author sought only destruction. If she let it go...
Neither of you were ever anything more than puppets. Dolls. Tools. Toys. The thing mocked. And yet you're still allowing yourself to be the Butterfly's marionette. ...Is that what he would want? Is that what you want?
If she let the Author go, there was a chance it would one day destroy Auratessa through a new Editor. More than anything, Amaranth had wanted to save the world. If she sacrificed its safety for him, he would be furious. Still...he had also wanted to live.
And she...what did she want?
This miserable existence isn't what you want, and you've suffered enough. You deserve better. After all, it isn't a lot that you wish for, is it? A normal life? A true family? Freedom? Why is that so much to ask? Why would it be so wrong for you to seize it? Who could blame you?
Silence.
I'll give those things to you. I'll give you your second chance.
Tears dripped from her chin and dampened the cobblestone.
Shakaya raised her eyes when she made a decision, laughing for the first time in what felt like years as she looked up at the blue sky.
She was a cruel, selfish woman.
Her life would always be filled with sin.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
Shakaya Johanne was never found.
During the Butterfly's first visit to Riksharre after the colony's unveiling, its guardian disappeared. The Overseer had left her alone and she'd never rejoined him. When Jeriko had returned to the garden where he'd last seen Shakaya, all he'd found was a splash of blood. Within it was a small, strange device. The implant.
The Butterflies had searched all they could, but in the end, it was already too late.
The guardian had released the Author.
The Butterfly had lost its chance to keep Auratessa safe from the creator who sought to destroy it. The Author was surely hunting for another vessel to use as it had Anson Anwell and other Editors before him. After all...he had already offered it four Inkwells. It already had
much of the strength it needed. All it required was a suitable host. Perhaps one day, it would find one, and it would wreak the destruction it wished for. No, it almost certainly would.
Deception after deception had ended with a final treason. The guardian had betrayed Auratessa itself. She'd hung a guillotine that lingered somewhere above the sky and over every neck, only waiting for the right person to come along and cut the rope. Eventually, Auratessa would end.
If the Butterfly found the next Editor...the organization would have to destroy it. The next Editor, and every unfortunate vessel the Author selected afterward.
The Scarlet Butterfly had originated as a naive movement that had unwittingly aided the Author. Later, it had held the entity hostage in an attempt to reconcile its own mistakes. Now, it would hunt down the world's own creator with intent to kill...the only way to keep Auratessa out of the palm that threatened to close over it forever.
The search for Shakaya Johanne was called off when the Butterfly pooled its resources into refocusing for a third, final time.
...Jeriko had an idea of where she might be, but he never searched there.
Epilogue: A Beautiful World
Sohna giggled while her father, Anson, tied a red ribbon into her black hair, reaching up to play with the bow.
"Make sure to tell them you're sixteen," he reminded with a worried smile.
The fourteen-year-old nodded. "I know! I'll be careful!"
"Look for the Head Scientist, Jeriko Fiddle. He had a daughter once. I'm sure he'll treat you well," Shakaya's cold voice could easily have been interpreted as indifference, but Sohna knew it was just the way her mother was.
Like her parents before her, Sohna was about to depart for Elavadin Academy. As comfortable as it was, life at Hayl Blaker's small, secluded cabin wasn't enough for a young woman so full of ambition.
Anson and Shakaya didn't have many other options. They needed to hide from the public eye. Anson had already lived and died once. Shakaya had vanished fourteen years ago, and she intended to stay missing. That didn't mean their children should have to face the same isolation.
Sohna looked up at her father, her blue eyes beaming. "Are there still extra copies of the Not there? What about the rest of your research?"
Anson tucked his sweaty bangs behind his right ear. "The Academy doesn't keep—"
"I know, but I'll use myself as a subject, just like you did." The young Otherling—or something like an Otherling—grinned, as if not realizing what she had just suggested.
Anson frowned. "You'll...have to see what they still have. It was a long time ago, and the Academy lost almost everything during the fire."
Sohna pouted, eyeing the shelf where the copy of the Not that had once saved her mother's life was tucked away. She had caught her father fiddling with it a few times, late at night, when he surely thought everyone else was asleep. "Please?"
Anson and Shakaya exchanged a glance, before he reluctantly fetched the device with the amaranth insignia and held it out for Sohna.
She snatched it up eagerly. Its cold metal surface, shimmering in the sun, felt so right in her hands.
Anson kneeled close to her and kissed her forehead. "Remember...the world isn't perfect, but it's beautiful."
"I'll make you proud," Sohna promised. "I'll help fight for a better future."
Anson stared at her a while longer, an anxiety she didn't quite understand in his gaze. Finally, he gave her a smile. "I know you will." He straightened. "Come back when you can. Home isn't too far away."
Arwin, her younger brother, peered out from behind Shakaya's legs and waved a teary-eyed farewell.
Shakaya only watched in silence.
Sohna took a last look through the cabin's doorway, at the place where she'd grown up. Her father's research books—the ones he'd read with her countless times—filled the home with the scent of old pages and the colors of leather spines. A chakram and other makeshift weapons hung from the wall. Her mother said they needed to be prepared in case their enemies ever found them. Who exactly these enemies were, though, Sohna wasn't quite sure. Instead, she looked at the fireplace that had kept her warm at night, the table where she had eaten so many meals made from their garden, and the flowering plants decorating the shelves.
She grinned, "I love you all," then she spun toward the city she had visited only a few times before and started walking. She turned back just once for a final wave of her own.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
Anson wrapped an arm around Shakaya's back as she did the same.
In its own quiet way, life was wonderful.
They were trapped by their sins. They always would be. They couldn't live openly like others could. They were ghosts.
And yet they had each other. They had a family. They had freedom. They had a pleasant, safe place to call home. They had reasons to get up in the morning. They lived away from the chains of secrets and lies.
They were no longer anybody's puppets.
They had defined themselves, away from society's impositions.
They had found a way to make their own world beautiful.
And yet...there was one worry that haunted their sleep.
Shakaya placed a protective hand on her son's back.
Arwin looked up at her in uneasy confusion, but Anson only sucked in a long, shaky breath, as afraid as she was.
Shakaya had released the Author. If the wretched thing found a vessel, not only would Auratessa itself be at risk, but so would the person it chose to haunt. Her eyes moved to Anson, his face changed by signs of age but his gaze still clouded by impossible dreams. In the past, the Author had lived through both of them.
"Ama."
Anson's brown eyes shone with the same anxiety, but when he turned toward her, he tried to smile. "...It's not her."
Shakaya leaned her head on his shoulder, holding on to him tightly, as the two of them watched their daughter's small figure disappear.
It was a fear they would have to live with.
Rowan Rook is an agender, asexual, and aromantic author, editor, and game designer who has been crafting worlds and characters since they were old enough to dictate to an adult at their typewriter. They are a consumer and creator of speculative fiction, poetry, and story-driven games, and they also take joy in heavy music, podcasts, and animals. Their collie dog and three cats keep them company at the keyboard. As a night person, the majority of their novels are written beneath the light of the moon.
www.rowanrook.com
Join Rowan Rook's newsletter for updates and freebies.
Read free speculative fiction at the All Worlds Wayfarer Literary Magazine.
Also by Rowan Rook
Night Plague
The Woods at the End of the World
Apocryphal: First Endings
Upcoming
Night World
(We are Made of) Glass
More in the Apocryphal series