by Sarah Fine
“If he can stand, so can you,” Raimo calls out to the other wielders. “Come help our Suurin to their feet!”
Veikko and Aira, Freya and Tuuli, all of the wielders slowly limp over to where Oskar lies. Carefully, they help him up while Maarika trails behind. Oskar stares at the ground as they help him walk over to the lip of the crevasse, a mound of dirt wide enough for him to rest on. I stand back, numb, as they cry over him, as they help him lie on the earth that wants to devour him. Freya hugs her brother fiercely, her body convulsing with sobs. Maarika kisses her son’s cheek before Veikko practically carries her away from him.
Sig lies with his head next to Oskar’s and his body pointed the opposite way, toward the Motherlake.
While the others attend to Oskar, Sig takes a deep breath. “Ansa!”
She raises her head, and he says something to her in Soturi—except I hear Kauko’s name, spat with contempt. She bares her teeth and offers a tight reply, and he nods, seemingly satisfied.
I approach when the small crowd of wielders backs away from Oskar. Sig looks up at me. “I don’t envy the two of you,” he says, glancing upward at Oskar. “Of all feelings, love is the most destructive and hurtful.”
Oskar slides his hand up and clasps Sig’s, and Sig squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling down his cheeks. He doesn’t correct Sig, doesn’t argue, simply lets Sig quietly grieve the connection he has always had with my ice wielder, deeper than either of them could ever explain. “I think it is right we die together,” Oskar says softly.
“I’m scared,” Sig whispers.
“Me too,” Oskar admits. “But we’ll be together. I won’t leave you.”
Sig sniffles loudly, but he seems to be past words now. He just clings to Oskar’s hand.
Oskar turns his head. “Ansa,” he says softly.
From her place on the ground, she looks up at him. She looks too weak to move closer.
“You used to protect me,” he tells her. “You used to guard me with your life. You might not remember, but I’ve never forgotten.”
I turn to Ansa and repeat what Oskar said. She stares at her cousin, her eyes a little wider. “I do remember,” she says to me. “Tell him I remember.”
I do as she asks, and Oskar smiles at her. “This is my chance to do the same for you. Understand?”
I translate, even though the terrible lump in my throat makes the task almost impossible.
“I’m doing this so you have a chance to live and be among your family. Your people,” he continues. “I’m doing this so you can save them. Will you save them?” His gray eyes skate over Freya, who has her face buried in Tuuli’s robes while the young woman holds her tight. “Please.”
Ansa clenches her jaw. She nods.
“Thank you, cousin,” Oskar says. He looks at me and nods, and I know it is time.
I kneel near their heads and Raimo stands behind me. He is holding a small knife.
I can’t believe this is happening. It doesn’t seem real. But as I look over their destroyed bodies and think about all the pain they’ve endured, I know ending it will be relief for them. Release. Freedom from suffering they’ve carried nearly all their lives.
I gently touch Sig’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came back to us. And I’m grateful you helped us get our Valtia back. You are more than fire.”
“No, I’m not. And I’ve never wanted to be.” I can just see his brown eyes through the swollen slits of his eyelids. “Good-bye, Elli.”
I nod, holding his gaze until he closes his eyes once more, and then I lean over Oskar. “In my dreams, I wait for you in our cottage by the shore.”
He gives me a faint smile. “In my dreams, I see you in the doorway, beckoning me inside.”
I stroke his cheek, then lay my head on his chest. “I’ve stoked the fire. You’ll be warm soon.”
Raimo leans over the Suurin. “You might not have asked for these gifts or this burden, but you have both carried all of it well.”
“People say such nice things to you when you’re about to die,” Sig muses. “Just get it over with, old man.” A moment later I hear him gasp.
I press my head to Oskar’s chest and hear him tell Raimo he’s ready. When I feel Oskar’s body flinch, I know the end is coming. “I will always be waiting to welcome you home,” I whisper.
“And I will always come back,” he says, his voice already fainter. “I will always look for you. I will always . . .”
“Love you,” I continue, my tears flowing as his skin grows warmer, losing the chill as his magic flows from his body. “I will find you in the stars, my love. We’ll be together again.”
“Elli, you must focus on directing their magic into the earth,” Raimo murmurs. “Their sacrifice won’t be in vain.”
I lift my head, but I do not look at Sig and Oskar. I look at the earth. I hate it. I love it. I am utterly ashamed of what we have done to it. I will never forgive it for taking so much from me. I beg its forgiveness, and beg it to accept this gift, freely given.
I close my eyes and hold my palm out. Brilliant, raw fire and ice flutters against my skin. Sig and Oskar. Fire and ice. I have to let them go now. With everything I have inside me, I grow that power. I add my own strength. I braid my soul with theirs.
And then I pour all that life and vibrant magic into the earth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ansa
I reel as I watch Elli bow over Oskar and Sig. The old man stands back, blood dripping from the small, sharp knife he holds. The other wielders are crying softly and hugging each other, but Elli is alone, her hands outstretched, her palms hovering over the abyss that threatens to swallow us all. She is still and elegant, like Thyra always was before she fought. My chest aches as I watch Oskar’s and Sig’s chests shudder and fall silent, as I watch their eyes close and their limbs relax into irrevocable slumber.
The air goes very quiet, and even the hissing of the steam and the waves seems to respect the sacrifice. Inside me, too, something is slowing down, losing its constant tremor.
But then the earth moves. I cling to the slab of marble on which I lie and watch the other wielders rock and try to keep their balance. Elli screams once, sudden and sharp, and when I look up, she’s teetering on the precipice, and Oskar and Sig and the earth on which they lay is gone. I lunge for her, wrapping my arms around her legs as she starts to go over the edge. I am jerked forward by her weight, and the heat and orange light of the fissure reaches for me before hands grab my legs and pull me backward. Elli is limp in my grasp as the other wielders pull us back from the edge and yank us out of danger.
“What’s happening?” I cry. “I thought the blood was supposed to stop the tremors!”
Elli clings to me, but her eyes are closed and her face is white. She looks like a corpse.
With a wrenching crack, the slabs of the plaza crash together, and then the shaking stops. My ears buzz as I look around and realize the crevasse has closed completely, and now all that remains is a scar of dirt. The hissing of molten earth colliding with cold lake water has ended.
I put my hand on my chest, feeling the magic in me steady, if not completely under control. “I haven’t felt this way since I first set foot in Kupari,” I murmur.
The old man with the bloody knife trills out a few words. He looks haggard and sad.
“He says it worked.” Elli’s voice is muffled against my chest. I hold her, not knowing what else to do.
“They saved us,” I say.
Elli looks up at me. “But they’re gone,” she says. She sounds like a little girl.
“Yes, they’re gone.” What good would it do to hide from this pain? “And we must keep our promises to them.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
I think back to how Thyra made me promise, just before she left me behind. “I’m not sure I can, either. But I won’t forgive myself if I don’t try.”
“Then you are a true queen,” she says.
I look down at her. She has a
grace and selflessness that has carried her along despite having no magic. She has a balance inside her that I cannot be without, whatever that means right now. “I am only a half-queen,” I reply. “And without the rest, I will definitely fail. Will you let that happen?” I keep my voice light, but it’s husky with grief. I miss Thyra. I miss my cousin, though I never even had a chance to know him. I miss my parents and my lost childhood and my lost tribe. I have only my promises to live for.
“I will stay long enough to finish this battle,” she says. Her voice is without sorrow. Without hope. “After that I won’t make any more promises. They are a cage in which I cannot abide.”
I stare at the sky, bright and sunny and merciless with cheer. “Fair enough,” I tell her. “Fair enough.”
None of the other wielders speak as they begin to clean up the plaza. They use their magic, and Elli helps, magnifying it in ways that allow them to move rocks and clear away dirt. It seems pointless to me, but to them this appears to be a very important task. With great care, they lay unbroken slabs of white stone along the scar in the earth that marks the place where Oskar and Sig offered themselves and were devoured.
Finally, Elli approaches me. “I need your help,” she says. Her face is smudged with dirt but otherwise flawless, smooth and bare of emotion. She gestures at the great wall of rubble that cuts us off from the city. “We have to get through there, and with your help we can do it quickly.”
I allow her to take my hand and let her do the work. She wields my magic as her own, and with the old man’s help, clears a passage between giant rock mounds, revealing the path to the city’s square. Without pausing to rest, she lets me go and strides through it. I follow several steps behind, both wary and weary.
It is clear of Krigere and rebel priests, clear of almost everyone, actually, until Elli comes walking into the center. She turns in place. “The earth has been satisfied of its hunger,” she says, only the slight waver in her voice hinting at the pain inside her. She looks at me, perhaps knowing that if she directs her words my way, I will be able to understand. “The ground will not move again. Pass this message along to your neighbors and fellow citizens. It is time to look to our safety and defenses.”
There is a muttering coming from makeshift lean-tos and unstable-looking doorways, and a few people emerge into the square. One young man, leading a tiny boy by the hand, asks her a question.
Elli gives him a gentle, sad smile, and then her gaze meets mine. “With magic. The land was healed with magic.”
More and more people are creeping out from their hiding places. They look smudged and scared, hunched backs and timid steps, closer to mice than wolves. I stand with the old man and watch them gather around Elli, the impostor who acts more like a queen than I ever could. She offers hugs, speaks earnestly when asked questions, and smiles.
It is the bleakest smile I have ever beheld. But it remains fixed in place as she lets these people approach her, one after another. One woman emerges from a stout stone building that withstood the shaking. She has loaves of brown bread on a large, flat board, and she brings them over with the help of an elderly man. Together they set the board at Elli’s feet, and Elli begins to break the bread and hand it out to her people, feeding them what they’ve already made themselves.
I am worried for these people. Jaspar and his warriors are somewhere near—they couldn’t have withdrawn very far from the city, and if Kauko survived the collapse of that building by the white plaza, he will probably never relinquish the idea that the temple could still be his.
Someone should perhaps tell him that it’s not there anymore, and that the copper is gone. It won’t stop Jaspar from looting whatever meager supplies these people have, but it might keep him from squatting in the city like he did in Vasterut. The Vasterutians might have been temporarily defeated, but they somehow kept their spirits intact. They worked quietly for months to overthrow Nisse, all while pretending to be docile. But these Kupari? Would it occur to them that they had the power to fight at all?
Elli knows this. She’s said as much herself. But right now she isn’t pushing them to take care of themselves—she’s giving them the illusion that she’s going to make things all right. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or admiring, but either way it’s hard to watch. I let myself fade into the background while the trilling of their language washes over me. I can catch a familiar word every once in a while, but I’m too tired to try to understand it or these people. They are foreign to me, and I want to go back to a home that doesn’t even exist anymore, in a time that has past, with a woman who has gone to the eternal battlefield without me.
I stare at the Torden, remembering the night we rode a broken hull across the water, under the stars, shoulder to shoulder. I walk toward the shore, heedless of the crowds gathering on this early summer afternoon. My stomach growls, and I realize I should have gotten some bread from Elli. When I turn back toward the square, though, I see it is impossible. She’s surrounded by the throng, and I can barely see her. Most people around her are on foot, but a few are on horseback, wading through the crowd to reach the food. I watch two riders slowly advancing, their cloaks fluttering in a cool breeze.
One of the riders’ hoods falls away from his face. My heart is jolted in my chest.
It’s Jaspar.
Elli’s back is to him as he reaches her, as people around him realize they have a Soturi in their midst. There’s only him and a man I recognize as one of Kauko’s priests, and there are close to a thousand Kupari in this square. But when they see Jaspar in his leather armor, when his cloak opens to reveal the dagger in his hand, they stampede—not to protect their queen, but to protect themselves.
I am knocked hard into a pile of rubble as I leap forward, shouting a warning that is drowned out by terrified screams. Jaspar leans down as Elli whirls around. I can’t see her face, but her body jerks as Jaspar grabs her and wrenches her up onto his saddle. I open my palm and fire bursts to life in my grip, fueled by my rage, singeing the hairs on my arms and burning my skin. I don’t care, though. Jaspar is taking Elli. He’s already wheeled his horse around and slammed his heels into its flanks. I hurl the fire desperately, but it is met with ice in the air as his priest guard defends his back.
Two of the other temple wielders are throwing elbows as they try to get clear of the panicked citizens—the lean, dark-haired ice wielder, Viekko, and the young woman, Aira. They reach the edge of the road and hold hands, then shove their palms forward. I don’t see ice or fire, but the priest, who was awkward on his mount to begin with, falters in the saddle as he’s hit by a fierce gust of wind. He falls from his horse.
Aira and Veikko sprint forward toward the priest, and as Veikko hurls ice, Aira grabs a stray hunk of wood and slams it into the back of the priest’s head. He falls boneless to the dirt.
Jaspar doesn’t stop. He has no care for the priest—he bends over Elli and spurs his horse on, heading for the exit to the city. Frustration sears my lungs as I try and fail to push toward Jaspar and Elli while everyone else flees. The old man has climbed onto a low wall at the edge of the square, and a rope of fire jumps from his hand and coils in the air. It arcs impossibly high, crackling and dripping sparks, and I want to cheer. It could kill Jaspar—but it won’t hurt Elli. But the serpent of flame gutters and falls short as a few people shove the old man while climbing over the wall on which he was perched. He falls into the crowd, and I skirt the edge of the square to try to get to him before he’s trampled. He’s alive but dazed when I reach him. I climb the wall, desperate to reach Elli and stop Jaspar. I know I have the magic inside me to reduce him to ash, but they’re so far away that my aim could never be sure, especially without the cuff of Astia or the help of Elli herself.
She is the power I need to save her. If I try to hurl fire or ice now, I could kill all the people between me and Jaspar. It is tempting, but somehow I know Elli herself would never want that. My screech of rage and hatred fills the air. Jaspar has the little girl. La
hja. And now he has taken Elli.
They are mine.
People are wailing now, realizing the danger has left their midst but taken their queen. The impostor who is real. And here I am, the true queen who is so unreal that I am a ghost in their square, a foreign presence unable to quell their fears.
I squat down and poke the old man, then slide his little knife from his belt. I can make better use of it than he can anyway. His eyes are still closed, but his knobby fingers curl over my wrist, surprisingly strong and spry. His mouth works for a few moments before he says, “Go.”
In Krigere.
I sit back on my haunches and give him a pull to help him sit. He winces and rubs the bump on his head, his scraggly beard waggling beneath his chin. He gestures for me to help him stand, and I do.
“Elli,” I say.
He nods and trills something about the Soturi.
“Krigere,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow. “Krigere.” He says it like Kauko does, a little twisted. He looks down at his knife in my hand and then down the road where Jaspar fled with Elli. Aira, who I think might make an excellent Krigere, and Veikko are carrying the priest up the road. He is stirring weakly, this Kupari who has betrayed his people, who serves the man who drank my blood and killed my love. He also probably speaks a few words of Krigere and knows what Jaspar and Kauko plan to do with Elli.
I clutch the knife in my sweaty palm. This priest has no idea how much pain I am about to visit upon him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Elli
The Soturi’s hand crushes me to his saddle and his knees jab me in the ribs and hip as his horse carries us out of the city. I am reeling with horror and confusion. One minute, I was numbly handing out food to my weary, frightened people and letting their fragile smiles remind me why I still breathe despite the knowledge that Oskar is gone from this life . . . and in the next, I was in the hands of the enemy, one who came into my city and snatched me right in the square.