by Claire Luana
“How long can your people last in here?”
He looked at her, and when he answered, his voice was a whisper. “Weeks. If they’re lucky. Without the tana root, the people would have starved by now. Going outside to hunt or forage is a great risk. If one person were to be captured by the soul-eaters, they would give up all their knowledge, including the location of this place.”
“So what have people been eating? What’s a tana root? The orange mush?”
“A vegetable that grows in the ground. Sarnak discovered it in these caves. It is not exciting, but it fills the belly. It can grow in the dark, so the people have been cultivating it in the tunnels by the light of the lava lichen.”
“Is that the glowy purple stuff?”
“Yes.” Vikal smiled. “You have quite a way with words.”
Rika raised an eyebrow. “Was that a joke?”
“I am as surprised as you are,” he said. “Goa Awan—Nua herself—has provided everything our people needed—caring for them when I could not. But one cannot live on tana root forever. If we are to survive, we need to strike back soon.”
“I’m amazed that they’ve lasted as long as they have,” Rika said. “It’s very well organized.”
“That is all Kemala. And Bahti. They are Tamar’s parents.”
“Who are you related to? You said Tamar’s your niece, right?”
Vikal hesitated. “We have arrived,” he said instead, pushing aside a ragged curtain that hung over the opening to yet another cave, holding it for Rika while she entered.
Three people were gathered around a large table. Though they all had the ebony hair and tanned complexion that Nuans favored, that was where their similarities ended. A woman, dark and lithe, her features exquisite, leaned back in a chair, examining perfect fingernails. Around her throat was a dazzling necklace of what looked like white and black diamonds. It was the type of jewelry Rika’s mother would have worn to the fanciest of ceremonies and complained about the whole time. But it suited this woman, as if the dank cave should have dressed itself up, rather than the woman dimming her beauty to suit.
At the other end of the table sat a man of about Vikal’s age with a thick, black beard and a warm smile revealing straight, white teeth. Beside him leaned what looked like a man-sized golden fork, as tall as Vikal. Some kind of—pitchfork? The last man stood behind the woman, as menacing as she was elegant. He seemed made of squat bulk and menace, his muscled arms crossed before his broad chest, his jaw set in anger. In the darkness, his eyes glimmered red as rubies. Rika swallowed thickly.
Vikal spoke to the three people in the room in their language before motioning to Rika. “Rika,” he said. She gave a little wave.
“Rika, this is Kemala, Bahti, and Ajij.”
Kemala, the woman, flourished a graceful half-salute. Bahti, the angry man, merely glowered at her, one of his hands drifting to an ornate dagger at his waist. Was it possible sweet Tamar had come from this man? Ajij, the bearded man, stood and came to meet her. He took her hand and bowed low over it, speaking strange words in a tone filled with welcome. She squeezed his hand, and when he stood, he studied her with eyes as blue as the sea, endless and deep. Between his brows was a tattoo in dark blue ink, identical to Vikal’s. Bahti scoffed. Ajij threw him what looked like a lewd gesture as he went back to his chair, saying something.
“You’ve met Cayono,” Vikal said, turning to introduce the tall, muscular man who had just entered from the hallway behind them.
Cayono bowed low and deep. “My goddess,” he said, in Rika’s language. “I am indebted to you for freeing me twice over. You are truly our saving grace.”
“You speak my language?” Rika asked, relief welling at this bit of familiarity amongst the strangeness. Then it dawned on her. She turned to Vikal. “Because he was a thrall?”
Vikal nodded. “Some of the knowledge of the leeches is imparted to the thralls, particularly that which they think is useful, like the language of the land we are conquering. As soon as the first person from your land was taken, the soul-eater hive learned your language. All the way down to the thralls.”
Rika’s half-smile faltered. The first person taken. Her father. These men knew her language because her father had been killed—eaten alive. She couldn’t forget that, however friendly they seemed. She didn’t belong here. She needed to get home.
Bahti let out a string of words that sounded spitting mad. Vikal responded in a reproachful tone.
“He doesn’t like me very much,” Rika observed.
“Ignore him. Bahti is hotheaded. It is in his blood.”
Vikal asked another question in his language and Kemala answered this time, shrugging her shoulders.
“Here I am,” a gravelly voice said behind them. Rika turned to find a short, wiry man, completely bald, swathed in orange robes. He gave off the impression of age, and wisdom, and…darkness. His eyes were inky pools shrouded in shadow. She took a step back inadvertently. Vikal placed his hands on her shoulders to still her. “This is Sarnak. The god of endings.”
Sarnak reached out for her and grasped her wrist in his gnarled one, pulling her from Vikal’s grasp. “Our newest goddess is to come with me. There is something I have to show her.”
“Come with you? Where?” Rika asked. How did he speak her language? Had he been enslaved to the leeches?
“Sarnak is the keeper of our histories and a master of magic,” Vikal explained. “He helped all of us learn to use our powers. I asked him to help you.”
Sarnak stood as still as a statute, his hand locked around her wrist in an unyielding grip.
“You trust him?” she whispered.
“With my life,” Vikal said gently.
“Very well,” Rika said, shoving down her trepidation and letting the strange little man lead her from the room.
CHAPTER 18
SARNAK DROPPED RIKA’S hand and reached into his belt, drawing out a small glass orb. He tossed it into the air with a flourish, and instead of falling to the ground, it bobbed before them, suspended in midair as if hanging from a string. A pure light blossomed from within, illuminating the tunnel and lighting their path. “You took your time arriving,” he said. His words held the strange staccato cadence that she was coming to recognize as the Nuan accent.
“Excuse me?” Rika asked, forgetting her questions about the strange orb in the face of his comment. “I didn’t even know this place existed more than a few days ago.”
“To forget your own people,” he chided with a shake of his bald head. “What did you do wrong? To get so turned around during your reincarnation.”
“Maybe you sent me down the wrong door or plane or whatever during my last ending,” she shot back, her hackles raising. Was he blaming her for what—being born in the wrong world?
He looked sidelong at her and coughed. Or was it a disguised laugh? “This is not exactly how it works.”
“Then teach me. Rather than judging me.”
“I can do both.” Was he toying with her?
She rolled her eyes. “Were you under the soul-eater’s compulsion? How do you speak my language?”
“This is a worthy question. My role is unique among the gods. To begin and end—to rule the cycles. All things on this Earth turn in cycles. The seasons, birth to death, the ocean to rain—”
“Right. But how do you speak a language fluently when you’ve never even heard it before? Or have you?” she asked.
“All people are related. All languages are related too. This is part of the cycle.”
She looked at him suspiciously. His explanation lacked something. Like an actual explanation. “You have no idea, do you.”
He shrugged, a smile playing across his wrinkled face. “I will meditate on this thing. If I come to understand this secret, I will share it. To oversee the reincarnation of the other gods is part of my duties. My guess is that my soul’s role in placing you in this cycle imbued me with this knowledge.”
“Your soul’s role…”
Rika shook her head. “So did you know I was in Kitina?”
They had reached the end of yet another tunnel, and Sarnak paused before the dim doorway, motioning for her to proceed. “This is something we will speak of. All in due time.”
She entered a chamber with a soaring ceiling. The cave was sparsely furnished, a bedroll on the floor, a shelf with a few books. The room was lit not by the low lavender glow she had seen elsewhere, but a quicksilver light pouring down from above, bathing the mundane furnishings in a magical ambience.
“This is a benefit of everyone thinking you are a little mad. You get the best room,” Sarnak said.
Rika let out a surprised laugh. “Where is the light coming from?”
“To let in the light, a path of tunnels lead from this cave to the side of the volcano. The light of the sky is reflected into this room. This is the best place to practice your magic.”
“Practice?” Rika swallowed. She hadn’t managed much control in the days since her magic had manifested. She didn’t want to blow this man up like she had the boat. Or the soul-eater.
“Vikal said you are powerful but untrained. To do magic, we must first understand it. First we learn. Then you wake. Then we practice.”
Wake? Rika wondered. She was already awake. Though in truth, this all did feel like a strange dream.
Sarnak retrieved a book from an indent in the wall and settled onto the floor, patting the ground beside him. Rika sat down beside him, awkwardly tucking her feet behind her. Damn this ridiculous skirt. She wished she had her leggings. He opened the book to the first page, which revealed an image of a dark expanse. The writing was a strange script of swirl and dots—nothing like the writing she was used to. “This is one of our vedas, or religious texts. The one tells our history. The world we know was created from the void by four great creator spirits.” He turned the page. “The land we walk on was made by a spirit we call the great turtle. He placed it on his back, where it still rests today. The sky was formed by the flying snake, who fans the currents with his wings. The ocean was created by a great leviathan, whose tail swirls the tides. Underneath the volcano is the dragon, who breathes the fire that fuels the Earth. We take care not to anger him, for when he spits fire, Nua suffers for his wrath. Above this all is the floating sky, where the world of human emotions and love are born and live. Beyond that is the endless sky, where the stars and planets sit. Each of these forms have unique energy and attributes.”
Rika peered at the image, at the layers and depictions of beasts. “Vikal told me about the snake.”
“To rule the land were created seven gods and goddesses, who are reborn into human bodies.”
“Seven?” Rika asked, ticking off the numbers in her mind. If she counted herself—which she wasn’t sure she did—she had met six. “Who’s the last one?”
The next page of the book depicted seven people, proud and regal and clothed in glorious fabrics and gold. Sarnak pointed to the first. “The god of green things—that’s Vikal. He governs plant life and is the first among the gods. The king of kings, if you will. The goddess of bright light—that’s you. Then the goddess of open sky rules over the air and the winds. She died many years ago and has not been reborn this cycle. The god of the deep sea is Ajij.”
“What’s with his golden fork?”
“His trident. It is his totem. I will explain that as well.”
“And then Bahti and Kemala, god of the mountain and goddess of dark spaces.” He pointed to the last two. “And me.”
“So one of the gods govern each of the realms of creation. They all make sense except the goddess of dark spaces,” Rika said. “What is her power?”
“This goddess governs humanity, human emotions. Love, joy, hope, hate, jealousy, envy, courage…the best and worst of humanity, the thoughts and emotions that fill the dark spaces of our minds.”
“She’s not what I would have expected for a goddess of love,” Rika said under her breath.
Sarnak chuckled. “It is my belief that the gods and goddesses are reborn with different traits based on the cycle in which they are born. This is a cycle of war and destruction. Hence Kemala is fierce and frightening. This is also why you were born in a foreign land.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you were native Nuan, you would have met the soul-eaters when they first arrived. To be captured or killed was the only possible outcome of this encounter.”
“Or maybe I would have destroyed them and prevented them from coming to my world,” Rika shot back.
“My soul tells me this is not how it would have ended. The goddess of bright light could not have been Nuan in this lifetime. With distance came safety.”
She supposed that made sense, if she believed that whoever made these rebirth decisions somehow knew the future. And that was a lot to swallow. She changed tactics. “Tell me about these totems. What are they?”
“Each god and goddess has an item that has been given to them by the creators of old that links them to the energy of the great spirits that separated the world into its forms. To possess your totem strengthens your power immensely. It tethers you to the power of this land and your form. Of the creator spirits. You have perhaps seen some of these totems—Ajij’s trident, Bahti’s hammer, Kemala’s necklace.”
Ah. That explained the fancy necklace.
“What is the goddess of bright light’s totem?” Rika asked. Part of her refused to believe she actually was this goddess. But the rest of her—the rest of her was curious.
Sarnak turned the page. On one page was an image of a god surrounded by vines and leaves, holding a staff of twisted vines. On the other page was an image of a goddess shrouded in light, constellations bright behind her, her hair flowing in the wind. She held a strange type of sword in her hand, with two curving silver blades arcing from each end of the hilt. “Ooh,” Rika said, her eyes widening. Her body thrummed with excitement as she looked at the page, coming alive with the suggestion of power.
“Where is it?” she asked. “The sword? Knife-thingy?”
“It is in the treasure room at Nuanita castle. At least it was when we evacuated. I regret that we did not have time to save it before fleeing.”
“The palace overrun with soul-eaters?” Rika asked, dismayed.
“The same one.”
“And you say it will make me stronger?”
“Oh, yes. To lose my orb would weaken my powers greatly.” Sarnak flicked the glowing orb that floated above them and it twirled, casting twinkling light on the cave walls.
“Where’s Vikal’s staff?” she asked, peering at the picture.
“This is unknown. He possessed it when he was captured. The leeches likely hold it now, though they may not know of its importance.”
An image flared to life in her mind of the soul-eater—the first who had entered the tent the night her father had died. Its dark claws curving around a wooden staff. Was it possible…that creature held the totem? What had become of it after she had killed it? Her stomach churned as she tried to banish the image.
“You said these totems connect us to this land, the source of our power. Vikal said that when he was in my land, his powers were weakened. Do you think that his powers would have remained strong if he’d had his totem?”
“This is likely so.”
The page crackled beneath her fingers as she traced the outline of the totem. If they were going to get back to Kitina and defeat the soul-eaters, she would need all the help she could get. That meant Vikal at his full abilities. And her…whatever her powers were…at their strongest. They needed to get these totems back.
“I need not be Kemala to see your mind working in the dark spaces. You wish to recapture these artifacts.”
“Is it such a crazy idea?” Though to steal a wooden stick from an evil soul-eater army a world away did sound…kind of crazy.
“This is necessary. But not yet. Vikal has said that your control is inconsistent—your power weak. The energy of your totem would
be too much for you until you gain control.”
Rika’s anger flared. Her power may have been inconsistent, but by her count, she had still killed two more soul-eaters than any other god on this stupid island.
“My people are probably being sucked dry as we speak,” Rika retorted. “There’s no time.”
“There will be only one chance to defeat the leeches. To advance before you are ready will spell disaster.”
“Then teach me,” Rika snapped. “Then we go for the totems. If I can convince the other gods,” she muttered.
“This should not be difficult. They already make plans to attack. Besides, the fates have named you their queen. They will bow to you eventually.”
Rika furrowed her brow. Queen? “What do you mean?”
Sarnak turned the page of the book back to the image of the seven gods. “The gods and goddesses are bonded. Three pairs, and a seventh, to govern the cycles.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He has not told you yet?”
“He? Who, Vikal? Told me what?”
Sarnak furrowed his brow, the lines on his face falling into shadow. “The god of green things and the goddess of bright light are mates. This is true each cycle. Same with Bahti and Kemala. Ajij has no mate this cycle, unfortunately, unless a new goddess is soon born.”
Rika shook her head, trying to process what he was saying. She held her hands up. “Wait, wait. So you’re saying that me and…Vikal, we’re destined to be together? We’re … mates?”
Sarnak cocked his head, seemingly unable to understand her reasons to be upset. “As sure as the sun rises in the east. To marry Vikal…to rule Nua. This is your destiny.”
CHAPTER 19
RIKA LEAPED TO her feet, shock coursing through her like a bolt of lightning. The sudden movement jostled her wound, and she was forced to shoot a hand out against the wall to steady herself. “Why didn’t Vikal tell me?”
Sarnak remained perched serenely on the floor. “Perhaps he feared you would overreact.”