She took the stairs, two at a time, energized by what memories and instincts told her. Upstairs. By the royal rooms, which looked out of the cliff side. The exit would be there. She was certain of it.
Yoma broke onto the main floor and ran past her rooms. The door was open and the blood red light glowed all around them. She ran to the end of the corridor, flung open the last door and entered the small room beyond it. It was empty, save for the statue of a woman.
“It’s here,” Yoma said between breaths. She ran her hands along the walls, feeling for a fissure, a crack, an irregularity, anything that would point to a hidden opening. The stone was smooth and betrayed nothing to her well-trained fingers.
“Blood and bones, Yoma. This is an empty room! In a tower with no other way out! We’ll be trapped!” As if on cue, gurgling sounds began to carry along the hallway. Zortan quickly closed the door and bolted the heavy metal lock.
“They wouldn’t have such a big lock unless it was to protect something valuable,” Yoma mumbled. “And it wouldn’t lock only from the inside unless it was most valuable when someone was in here.”
Avienne smiled. “I’ll buy that.” Without warning she threw herself into the statue, which teetered warningly. Before it could settle, the smuggler threw herself onto it again, toppling it over with a great crash that shattered it.
“Well, I’ll be.” Avienne bent down and brushed crumpled stone and dust away, and pulled on the door in the floor where the statue had rested. She flung it open.
It led to a dark drop. Avienne kicked a piece of the broken statue into the hole, and Yoma heard it strike ground in less than a second.
“Sounds good to me.” Avienne grinned and jumped down. Yoma and Zortan were treated to a string of swears as the smuggler landed on the piece of statue.
“I have a flashlight,” Zortan said. He pulled it free and shone it down the hole. Avienne’s brown eyes blazed up at him.
The door shook and cracked, and tar seeped in from under it.
“Move,” Zortan said, half pushing Yoma in. She fell beside Avienne and scrambled aside for Zortan as she got to her feet.
The sound of splintering wood echoed throughout the long hallway. “Go,” Zortan said from beside them. His light illuminated the way.
They ran, the corridor lit only by Zortan’s bouncing light, the three not speaking for fear of wasting their precious breath. The further they ran, the louder the screams and shells became ahead of them. The grunting and gurgling of the tar creatures neared behind them, although they dared not stop to glance back.
Yoma swallowed what little saliva she had left, her throat dry and aching, her breath harsh in her own ears. Red light illuminated the end of the passage, and she would have laughed if she still had the energy. She had feared all this time that they had been heading toward a dead end — dead in too many ways for her liking.
Avienne slowed and let the other two pass her as they neared the exit, pulling something from her pouch. Yoma and Zortan broke free just as the mountain shook, rocks tumbling around them. Avienne cheered as her last explosive barricaded the tunnel.
Yoma looked around her. They were just above the docks and the scene below was horrific. Panicked masses of people were gathering around the ships, the crews desperately trying to control the flow as everyone tried to get on board. People trampled each other and some were knocked off the walkways. Echoes bounced off the cliffs for a few seconds after the abrupt halt of their screams.
“Let’s go,” Zortan said. He scaled a stairway down, and Yoma and Avienne stuck close behind him.
“Lady!” Yoma heard the shout before she saw Gobran Kipso, running toward her. “I knew you would find your way. I kept the Victory on hold for your arrival. Quickly!”
Gobran grabbed her wrist and jerked her into the crowds, pushing people aside easily with his strength and size. His grip was iron around Yoma’s wrist and she glanced back, relieved that Avienne and Zortan were following her. The bridge leading to the ships was even more densely packed with people. “Hang on,” she thought she heard Gobran call. He was knocked aside and lost his grip on Yoma. Yoma took a shove to the back that pushed her against the railing of the bridge and, before she could catch herself, she was tumbling over the edge. Her hands madly grabbed for anything within reach, and they closed on a metal support, wet and slippery with what she thought might be blood. She tried to pull her feet up, but the slickness only made her slip further down. She tightened her grip as much as she could and looked up. Gobran shouted at her to hold on, but it was Zortan’s eyes on which she focused.
“Blood and bones!” She heard the familiar cry as someone plummeted past her into the darkness.
“Avienne!” Yoma screamed down. The ground below was piled high with fallen bodies, the deep shadows cast by the red moonlight making it impossible to judge exactly how far the smuggler had fallen, or if she was all right. She squinted, only able to make out some of the corpses’ features. Her stomach lurched and she looked back up. The screams from the airfields changed to sharper and more desperate cries as ships began to take off. People clutched to them, only to fall from farther above.
Yoma’s grasp slipped a bit. She looked back up into Gobran’s despairing eyes.
“Gobran!” Yoma screamed up at him. “My sister lives! Find her and keep her alive!” Gobran nodded. He waited by the railing, as if waiting for her to fall, to ensure that only one lived. Zortan locked eyes with hers before turning against the flow and heading back to the palace.
Yoma’s hand slipped again and this time she could not catch herself.
She closed her eyes and waited for the impact.
37
See how easily they accept darkness for one more chance to live?” Dunkat’s father hissed at his side. They stood together on a cliff, too far away to see faces but close enough to hear the screams. The wraiths, souls trapped by the shields of Mirial almost twenty years ago, had willingly accepted the tainted ether for the chance to live again.
And now they were under his control, powerful and unstoppable. Only fragments of their souls were still intact enough to realize that it was their families and kin they now destroyed.
“Mirial has always been tainted,” he whispered. He could feel his own growing power in his chest, and it was a sturdy, comforting presence even though it was made from the same ether he had learned to hate. It was the only way left to him to stop the twins, and that was all that mattered now. Noro, the Solarian defences, his own dishonour...they were all far away and insignificant. Stopping the ether was what mattered. He had seen too many suffer horribly to believe that ether could ever be a force for good.
“To reach our full power, we must be corporeal,” his father hissed, cool air brushing against Dunkat’s ear. “Then we can stop them.” Take out the enemy’s allies, then close in. It was a strategy that both Dunkat and his father had always favoured. It was one of the few things they had agreed upon, in the end.
“They will be stopped,” Dunkat confirmed. His father’s answering smile sent a chill down his spine.
He was careful not to show it.
Silence. No more shells. No more screams. No more gurgling.
Yoma hurt. She was still foggy from having the wind knocked out of her. Every inch of her skin felt bruised. She was surrounded by thick, heavy silence, and the red light of the moon teased her eyelids open. The first thing she saw was an arm, sticking up near her face. She fought down panic as she remembered that she was on a giant pile of bodies. They had all been knocked down by their frightened kin, who were now the few survivors of a once great people.
Her legs were weighed down. Someone was on her. She wiggled and pushed at the body, not wanting to see its face. She moved carefully, afraid of being swallowed by the limbs below her.
She could hear moans and sobs and was careful not to add her own. She was stiff and sore, but nothing seemed broken. The bodies had cushioned her fall.
“Avienne?” she whispered around and wa
ited patiently. Thief’s breaths.
“Avienne?” she called again, fighting back her panic. She dared not push herself off the body underneath her. She tried not to think of the spine she was sitting on and its strange angle; tried not to think of the pile of bodies that had saved her life.
“Am I on what I think I am?” Yoma finally heard the slurred reply. She rolled over and crawled carefully towards the sound of the smuggler’s voice. The pile of bodies gave way and shifted underneath her, trapped her arms and legs between limbs several times. Her heart pounded.
“Blood and bones, it is.” Avienne’s voice became stronger as she sat up, making it easier for Yoma to spot her, the woman’s hair vibrant in the light. The red moonlight reflected morbidly on pale skin and lifeless eyes. Yoma focused on Avienne, not looking down to make sure her path was secure, not thinking about the lukewarm surfaces beneath her.
“Are you okay?” Yoma asked.
“I will be once we’re off this thing.” Avienne pushed herself to her feet, biting back a yelp of pain.
“What’s wrong?” Yoma stood carefully, wincing as something crunched under her foot on her way forward to support Avienne.
“I sprained my bloody ankle. Of all the rotten luck.”
“I think being on a pile of bodies is worse luck.”
Avienne grinned at Yoma, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Yoma didn’t feel much like laughing, either.
“Come on.” She walked ahead and helped Avienne, carefully guiding her feet onto backs instead of limbs. She tried to avoid looking at faces, to ignore slight shifts or small noises. She didn’t look at the few others who were getting up, looking for their loved ones or simply staring in shock. Avienne stumbled a few times and caught herself on bodies. Yoma tried her best to hold her up, wishing that the surface beneath her wasn’t so squishy.
The queasiness in Yoma’s stomach wasn’t helped by the smell of the blood. It quickly became unbearable. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes, bent over and vomited.
She quickly stood back up without looking at the ground and held her hand out to Avienne again, resuming their descent. Avienne said nothing, but Yoma guessed from her tight features that she felt quite the same.
They took a few more steps and reached ground. Neither Yoma nor Avienne looked back.
A shadow was scaling the riverbed quickly and moving towards them. Yoma stopped supporting Avienne and pulled her gun free, relieved that it hadn’t tumbled from its holster.
“Shoot, no questions,” Avienne urged from beside her.
“That will get you supplies,” the deep, familiar voice said. Zortan jumped gracefully to the riverbed. “But it will deprive you of my wonderful company.” He approached them, carrying a couple of bags.
“Blood and bones! We’re on a pile of bodies and he goes pillaging!”Avienne smiled, and this time the light did reach her eyes. “We could make a smuggler out of you yet!”
“Or a thief,” Yoma said with a raised eyebrow.
“Maybe we should go into business.” Avienne leaned her weight back on Yoma, her one good leg already tiring.
“Maybe we should get out of here.” Zortan said. He looked questioningly at Avienne.
She winced. “Sprained it.”
Zortan gave a low chuckle. “Only a Malavant could take such a fall with little harm. Remind me to tell you stories of your father, one day.”
Avienne grinned widely at the idea, sitting down carefully with Yoma’s help.
“There’s not much time, so I’ll just make you a quick splint. I can carry you afterwards.”
“You can splint me, Zortan, but no carrying. It’s really not my thing.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t slow us down,” he said. Yoma winced, watching him trap the ankle with wood and fabric. Avienne’s face turned paler and more taut with each of the man’s abrupt movements. Still, she said nothing. When he was done, she got up on her own and managed a weak grin.
“Shall we?” she asked.
Zortan nodded and picked up the pack, pointing toward the west. “The capital is that way, and so is the main temple.”
“The Temple of Mirial,” Yoma whispered, a chill travelling down her spine.
“Don’t you go all creepy on me, too,” Avienne pleaded. She searched out Yoma’s eyes, and Yoma managed a weak smile.
“Let’s go,” Zortan said.
Layela, stay safe. Yoma cradled the promise in her heart: her sister’s blood would not be shed.
Layela’s fingers bled, the nails cracked and broken, the skin dry and dirty. She had covered the grave with her two hands, forgetting any tools, wanting to feel the earth that would forever hold her friend.
Josmere. Layela lay on the earth and covered her friend’s grave with her body, soaking the ground with her tears. The earth was so dry that it greedily swallowed them. She imagined her tears reaching Josmere, and the thought calmed her.
“She might still be alive down there,” she whispered to the earth.
“It’s been almost an hour, Layela,” Ardin replied. She felt his hand on her back, rubbing her gently. It made her notice for the first time how cold she had become, and how her breath rose around her in thin wisps.
She sat up slowly, keeping her back to Ardin. “She was my best friend.” The words blanketed the loss in her heart, making it less sharp but more enduring.
“I know.” Ardin wrapped his arms around her to warm her. She leaned back onto his strong frame, cradled by his arms, warm and safe. She remained quiet, imagining she heard a familiar tune on the wind, letting it soothe her spirits, and she even allowed herself a smile. She realized the music was only in her mind, but she softly sang it to the earth below, to Josmere’s blood. It was a promise of life, to the past and the future that could now never be.
Rise gentle flower, rise with the rain,
Rise my love, dare to bloom again,
Shine like the sun, like the light of day,
Shine, shine forever, always with me stay.
She sang it over and over again, and Ardin hummed along with her after a little bit. The tears ran freely down on her cheeks, tumbling in the red light and soaking Josmere’s grave.
The vision of Josmere’s death was already growing dim. She knew that she had felt different, in her vision. Here, she felt some peace. In the vision, she had felt only pain and anger.
Although the end result was the same, it was like night and day. She let her head fall back onto Ardin’s shoulder, felt his breath as though it was her own, and tried to recall her vision of his death. She had seen it, this she knew, but she couldn’t envision it now. She could hear bells on the edge of her consciousness, but that was all.
“I don’t believe things are meant to turn out only one way,” he suddenly said. It was as though he had heard her thoughts. “I don’t believe that there’s only one path for us, and that no matter what choices we make, we will wind up at the same destination. That makes no sense.”
He took a deep breath, and she let herself feel it with him.
“I know your visions tend to come true,” he continued, his voice soft and his breath warm on her ear and neck. “But I think it’s just something that’s likely to happen, based on how people have made their choices so far. So if one element changes, then I don’t think what you’ve seen has to be. Just like you believed you could save Josmere, Layela. I think, in a way, you did.”
He paused as though looking for more words, but just held her a little bit tighter in silence. She let herself be cradled in his warmth. She remembered the first time she had felt that warmth, when her flower shop had been destroyed and death was writhing in the Solarian soldiers. That vision had been different too, she suddenly realized. In the vision, she had been terrified and alone. In real life, she had been exhausted and comforted by Ardin’s presence, much like she was now.
She put her hands over his and closed her eyes. The Kilita’s touch years ago had unleashed only visions of death, and since then, only vis
ions of death courted her mind. He had changed the written future for her, in a way, just like she had for Josmere. She had to believe she had done some good for Josmere. And she had to believe the vision with Yoma could also be avoided.
That, she realized, had been her mistake. She had believed she could avoid death by avoiding fear, but no matter what she did, fear would find her. Even hiding in a peaceful flower shop couldn’t keep fear and death away from her. And if that was to be her destiny, if she couldn’t keep it away, then at least she could fight the bitter end with all of her strength. She had changed Josmere’s future and bought her time — and, in a way, eternal life through her children. Now, she needed to heed the vision and make sure it would come to pass as predicted, and that it would be her blood spilled and not Yoma’s. She knew Yoma had seen the full vision in her waking mind, and also knew she intended to change it, even if it meant sacrificing herself.
But Layela was determined that Yoma would live, even if it meant her death. She needed to make sure of it.
She felt Ardin’s heart against her back, every strong beat turning to the clanging of bells, and she knew she was remembering a vision now. She had tried to recall it just moments ago, but now she fought it. She didn’t need to know how Ardin would die, and live in fear of it. She would enjoy her time with him now, not wait in fear for the moment when it would all end. She would not make the same mistake she had made with Yoma and Josmere.
Life, not death. She gave a short laugh.
“Imagine the army of brats that woman will leave us with!” Layela exclaimed, turning around to face Ardin. He smiled at her, his own eyes full of sorrow and concern.
“Thank you,” she whispered and kissed him full on the mouth. The bells were replaced by the beating of both their hearts and the taste of their tears mingling together.
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