Dissolution

by Kyle West

  “She’s my mother,” I said.

  From within the room, I heard her speak. “Let her in, Anabelle!”

  Anabelle’s eyes widened as she dropped a hasty curtsy. “Apologies, my Lady.” She scurried away, her cheeks red, and left me a view of my mother standing next to a table she had hastily stood from. A cup of steaming coffee sat on the table, along with some sort of pastry.

  For a moment we just stood and stared at each other, our eyes filling with tears while the sounds of the castle courtyard filtered through the open window; a hammer, the drilling priests, even birdsong. After three months of eating well and resting, she was almost her old self again . . . though her face was drawn and tired from her long, cruel captivity in the dungeons of the Red Bastion. But her face shone with a beauty and inner strength that hardship could never diminish.

  At last, I ran forward to embrace her. “Mom . . .”

  “My dear daughter,” she said, stroking my hair and sobbing.

  We just cried like that, ugly, heart-wrenching tears I didn’t know I was capable of. Her embrace, the strength of her arms, even her smell, brought back all the warm memories of childhood that had been forgotten in the pain of living. Though she was thinner and weaker than me, she was the one lending me strength.

  “I know I don’t look the same,” I said, “but I promise it’s me.”

  “I’d recognize you in a crowd of thousands, hair or no hair, scar or not scars,” my mother said. “Your hair will grow back in time, and when all of this has passed, we’ll find a good man for you.”

  “Mom . . . I can’t think about all that right now.”

  She laughed. “No. I suppose not. But it’s not wrong for a mother to still hope, is it?”

  I was starting to pull back, but my mother wouldn’t let me go. I resigned myself to being crushed by her. She gave me one final squeeze before letting me breathe again.

  We both took our seats at the table across from each other. She held my hand in hers, drinking some coffee with her free hand to steady her voice. Despite that, I was the first to speak.

  “I’m sorry it took so long,” I said. “There were . . . complications, to say the least.”

  “I was so afraid,” my mother said, wiping another tear from her eyes. “Such nightmares. Such pain. You must never know what I had to feel, Shanti. I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted from me.”

  My mother poured me a cup of coffee, and as she did, I watched her face, seeking its old familiarity. She was as I remembered, but . . . older. Her light brown eyes and tawny brown hair were the same, and she was still beautiful in the light of the open window. But I could see things that weren’t visible before; more creases on her face, more worry, more pain. She had aged ten years in the time since I’d left Colonia, though it had hardly been one year. Her hand shook as she raised her cup to her mouth; I was worried she was going to spill it.

  “You’re here,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

  I smiled, wiping another tear from my right eye. My own hands were shaking now, and I was grateful for the support of the table. “Where’s Dad?”

  My mother sighed regretfully. “He left just a few hours ago. We don’t expect him back for a few days at the least. He was meeting with some of the lords east of the mountains, hoping to secure food and supplies from that direction, since we are mostly cut off from the west.”

  My heart wrenched at hearing that. I had missed him by just hours.

  My mother continued. “If we can get the supply line secure, both people and materials can flow freely into Kalear without having to pass through Annajen lands.”

  It was a good idea. Anything that came from the west was in danger of being seized by Isaru, strengthening his forces while weakening ours. I felt so out of place at that moment – it was hard to believe that I was here with my mother. That it was autumn and that I was in command of an entire territory.

  “I’m overwhelmed,” I said, feeling that word did no justice to how I truly felt.

  “I’m here to help, Shanti,” my mother said. “Rest assured of that. You were born for this Shanti, though it might not feel like that now. But first, I want to hear everything that’s happened, in your own words. Pallos told me everything leading up to your going into the Hyperfold, but I know nothing beyond that.”

  It was going to take a while to tell her, but for now, I had the time, and I wanted to spend it with my mother, even if it was just explaining everything I had gone through, reliving the horror of it all over again.

  She held my hand the entire time, and it was enough of her strength to go on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BY THE TIME I FINISHED talking, I still felt the terror of it, the memories coming back as I replayed my story. I tried to distance myself from that pain, even grasping onto Silence at times, but all the same . . . the tears still came, and when they did, my mother was there to hold and comfort me.

  It was a wonder I hadn’t died, a wonder that I had lived to see my mother’s face again. I remembered what Elder Isandru had told me: every time I risked my life, it wasn’t just my life I was risking. It was the life of everyone in the entire world.

  I felt older now, but not necessarily wiser. I’d have to risk my life again and again until I figured out a way to stop the Radaskim once and for all.

  When I couldn’t think of anything more to say, my mother sat quietly, continuing to hold my hand in hers. When she spoke, her voice was comforting.

  “I feel such pain at what you’ve gone through. You’re my child, and if I could, I would keep you safe until all this was over.” My mother’s eyes became sad. “But that’s not for a long time yet.”

  She fell into silence. When I was sure she wasn’t going to say anything more, I spoke.

  “I don’t know what comes next, Mom. We tried the best we could, but the Hyperfold still stands. Mia died, Mom. There’s nothing I can do to bring her back . . . nothing. Isandru went inside again before we left, but I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  I was crying again and cursing myself for crying. Everything I had bottled up, every emotion I had pushed away with Silence, came roaring back in that moment. That was when I realized that suppressing my emotions with Silence had a price . . . whatever I pushed down came back twice as strong later.

  “Rest,” my mother said, soothingly. “You’re tired, Shanti. You’ve been through so much.”

  “I can’t rest,” I said. “Isaru is in control of Haven, and it’s my fault, and–”

  “—and all the more reason to rest,” my mother finished. “Kalear has been kept together for three months in your absence, and it will keep for a few days longer. You need time to rest, and to just be, Shanti. I’m sure your friends would agree as well. You may have the power of a god, but you have a human heart, and human weaknesses . . .”

  “I can’t,” I said, stubbornly. Even as I argued, I knew she was right. “I . . .”

  I couldn’t find an answer to her good sense. Instead of pointing out that fact, my mother only smiled.

  “Sleep here,” she said. “The bed is comfortable. I’ll stay here with you, so you won’t be alone. If you need anything, I’ll be right here. Food can be brought, if you’re hungry. You’re thin, Shanti. Your strength will return to you, in time, and so will your heart. The others cannot see the pain, but I can.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Because I’m your mother.”

  And as if I was a weak child again and not the hero who had singlehandedly brought down a dragon with just her blade, my mother had me in bed and asleep in less than two minutes, singing me a lullaby from childhood that brought me back to a safe place where no one could hurt me. When I slept, my dreams were of a hot, desert sun, the slow flowing Colorado River, the laughing of children out in the streets. It was as if I’d gone back in time from some magic.

  For the moment at least, there were no worries.

  * * *

  When I awoke, it was evening. The air wa
s chill, but a small fire was burning in the nearby fireplace, providing light for my mother, who was still sitting at the table, writing with quill and ink. I remained quiet, just watching her for a moment. She must have detected me waking, because she turned and smiled. “Awake already?”

  “I had a dream,” I said. “I was home again in Colonia. It was summer and the sun was so bright. I was a child again.” I sighed. “It’s all nonsense.”

  My mother put down her pen. “Your mind knew you needed a bit of peace, Shanti, and it gave it to you.”

  “I’d forgotten what that felt like to be a child, and when the feeling returned to me . . .”

  The thought escaped. It was like I was trying to remember the way the sun felt on my face hours after sunset.

  My mother looked at me sadly. “You still are a child. One day, I hope you will grow to be old and gray like me. And I hope you won’t remember the pain of these times, and not mourn the childhood that was lost.”

  “I’m not mourning,” I said. “I remember childhood fondly. Though the times are dark, not all is dark in the times.”

  My mother smiled. “No. It’s not.”

  The wind blew cold through the window, shifting the curtains and slamming the heavy shutters suddenly closed. After the resounding boom, the room was left in silence save for the crackling of the fire. My mother came and sat at the foot of the bed, placing a hand on the sheet where my leg was. As I looked at her, I realized how much we’d been through together before Isaru had spirited me away to the Sanctum. I had lived an entirely separate life here. Separate, but unceasing in thinking and worrying about my parents.

  She had taken care of me all her life, and in turn, I had started to take care of her. And now, the roles were as they had been. Though she thought me a child still, I no longer felt like one. How could someone still be a child when they could take care of their parents on equal terms? Perhaps that was a mark of growing up.

  I was still having difficulty grasping that both she and my father had reentered my life. The child in me wanted to follow and do as she was bid, while the person I had become . . . the hero who the Elekai said I was supposed to be . . . wanted to figure out the next step for those under my charge.

  Would my parents accept me as that person? Could they? With my mother here now, protecting me, I didn’t want to return to my new identity. I just wanted to be taken care of, because out there, I had no one to take care of me the way my mother could.

  “Shall we get you dressed?” my mother asked.

  It was as if she had answered my concern with that simple question. There was no reason to get dressed unless you were to go out and see people, and if I was to see people, then it would be in my capacity as a leader, not as my mother’s child.

  I nodded, and my mother helped me dress and get ready. It felt strange to not have her brush my hair as she would have done only a year ago. These days, I had no hair to brush.

  By the time we were heading for the door, there was a knock. My mother opened the door, revealing Annabelle. I had been so fatigued earlier I had not noticed that she was a young girl that could not have been much older than me. As she curtsied deeply, I thought it strange that I considered her a girl at all.

  “Dinner is nearly ready,” she said. “Shall I bring it here?”

  My mother looked to me for direction, but I shook my head. “No. We’ll eat down in the hall.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

  I almost corrected her, telling her to just call me Shanti, but I was too tired for even that. Neither my mother nor I had been born ladies, and it could be argued that the both of us were born lower than even Annabelle; after all, we had lived in the Subura, the poorest neighborhood of Colonia, and had spent our days as farm hands on the river plantations for all the years of the war.

  My mother took my arm. “Come, Shanti. Everyone will be wanting to see you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN MY MOTHER AND I walked downstairs, the hall was filled with well over a hundred people, almost none of whom I recognized, though there were many white-robed priests, worn and sweaty from a hard day’s work. The rest of the people were a mix, some wearing a sword and mail, others humble woolen clothing, and even a few wore richer, silken garb, such as the kind worn by the upper classes of Elekai society.

  The voices quieted as my mother and I reached the bottom landing. I tried to ignore the silence as I followed her to the high dais, where Isa, Fiona, Shara, Pallos, and some others I didn’t recognize were seated. There were only two empty seats in the middle, most likely reserved for my mother and father. Since my father wasn’t here, I’d be taking his chair.

  When we were both seated, the silence thankfully didn’t last long. Food was served from the kitchens by people my age. It seemed strange to be up here while the people who should have been my peers were serving the food. Food was given to the high dais first, fresh venison cooked with onions, carrots, and potatoes in a thick gravy, served with fresh greens and goats’ cheese, with fresh-baked bread with garlic butter. The smell of the food was maddening. I did my best to wait, until I realized that everyone was looking at me expectantly; apparently, I was supposed to take the first bite. As soon as I did, the others followed. The people on the tables below began eating and chatting as soon as I did so.

  I tried to eat slowly, but I was still making up for all the lost meals, and the healing I’d received from the Seekers meant I would be even hungrier than usual for the coming days. It was an inconvenience, but I couldn’t stop myself. I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal like this in ages. The forest at the foot of the mountains didn’t seem to be lacking in bounty, judging by the well-prepared meat, which was gamey but still tender. The gravy was succulent and filling, perfectly drenching the potatoes and carrots.

  I talked little and ate much, even as the others spoke and laughed around me, even as beer and wine were served.

  “Is it always this lavish?” I asked my mother.

  She shook her head. “We wanted to do something special for your return.”

  “And if I wanted to take my meal in my room?”

  My mother smiled. “Then we would still celebrate and have another one just like this tomorrow.”

  After eating two full plates, as well as the blackberry pie with whipped cream that was the dessert, I was stuffed.

  “We can’t feast like this every night,” I said. “We must have gone through several days’ worth of food just tonight . . .”

  “Don’t worry over it,” my mother said. “Your job is to rest and recover, not to worry about the details.”

  All the same, I couldn’t help but feel that I needed to know the details. “Winter will be here soon. Do we have enough food? What about the people who might be coming in the following months?”

  “Your father is working to secure supplies,” my mother said. “We have leftover gold from King Taris, and the harvest this year was good.”

  That was fortunate, but I was still worried. The fact that my father had to go in person to secure additional supplies was telling in and of itself.

  After the meal was finished, a group of men stood to the cheers of the rest of the hall. One held a guitar, and another a drum, while a third held nothing – he was most likely a singer.

  “They came from the mountains about a week ago,” my mother said. “They’ve sung and played almost every night since. It’s good for people’s spirits.”

  “Are they any good?” I asked.

  My mother shrugged. “It’s a lively style, though different from what we’re used to.”

  I looked down the table, where I saw Shara, Isa, and Fiona watching with interest. I couldn’t help but notice the singer was quite handsome, with blue eyes and blond hair. When he began to sing with a pure, angelic tone, I could see why all the girls were gazing dreamily at him.

  Soon, the tables were cleared and pushed to the side of the hall. Fires roared in the hearth and blazed brightly from the sconces. Alre
ady, couples were pairing up to dance to folksy mountain tunes, while laughter and cheers filled the air. The white-garbed Priests of the Sphere remained on the sides. Only the younger ones watched with widened eyes, while the older one’s faces held a mask of discipline.

  “I want to dance,” Isa said.

  “You need a partner, first,” Fiona said.

  “Why not you?”

  “You need to find a boy,” Fiona said.

  “Why?” Isa asked. “Shara? Shanti?”

  I shook my head, but to my surprise, Shara giggled. “I’ll dance one with you. Long enough for one of the boys to hopefully pluck up their courage.”

  Isa squealed with delight and ran down to the floor, for once acting like a girl of fifteen years. Shara just laughed and followed her.

  By now, quite a few people were dancing, including half of the people at the high table. I watched as Isa and Shara learned the moves of the dance, and I smiled to see them having fun. The men outnumbered the women two to one, but this wasn’t much of an issue, because all the Sphere Priests made a point of not dancing. This made the rest of the men much happier.

  “They have strange beliefs, don’t they?” my mother asked, looking toward the line of white-garbed priests leaning against the wall.

  In truth, I didn’t know how much about the priests at all, other than the fact that they had branched off from the Seekers long ago, after the fall of Hyperborea. They admitted no women into their order, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t any women of Elekai blood in the Ruins, where the Sphere was situated.

  “Their culture is different,” I said. “They have followed their ways since the time of Hyperborea’s fall. It’ll be a while before they become used to anything else.”

  “Every day, they practice,” my mother said. “They have done well in keeping Kalear safe, so I have no complaints. But . . . it would be better if they blended in a bit more. The people fear them. They’re so . . . austere.”