And Nyx freezes near me—her hands trembling. I bring my hand to her shoulder as Ran snickers beside me. I avoid her eyes, feeling her anger course through me as I squeeze her shoulder.
I feel her relax.
But Nyx still seethes. “The Weaver created mortals without souls—and therefore, without a way out of this world once we died! She didn't care about mortals—all she cared about was populating emptiness! She is worse than the—,”
“She followed the orders of the Great One—the Celestial Body—,” and in one smooth movement, Vivek slides the Weaver card atop the other discarded deities and moves to the fourth card in his vanishing circle. He presents it to us.
This one I can read.
Amidst a world of darkness, floats a bodiless spirit that transcends space and time. The creator of all things—the alpha and omega of our whole world—of Myrine in its entirety. The Celestial body floats above a spherical world as a white amalgam of glittering pastels. It is formless. Beautiful.
“As first daughter of the Great One, it fell to the Weaver to populate Myrine with flesh and blood creatures. When she failed to anoint us with souls—with a way of retreating to the Underworld once our bodies fell to ruin—,” Vivek stacks the card among the rest. He strikes at the third card in the half-circle. Moving quickly now, his fingers trembling. I watch his eyes flit towards the door as he moves his jaw from side to side.
I feel my blood quicken as Ran slams the legs of his chair to the floor.
“Time is running out.” Vivek warns us as he flips the next card over. “And the Weaver created a great dragon to stand watch over our world. She created Heaven's Gate as a way for dying mortals to pass on to the next life—but this dragon stood as judge and executioner over those that wanted a way into the underworld.”
But the card shows an ashen woman wearing the sharp black beak of a raven atop her head. Sable feathers cover her, as she moves a hand over her chest and splays sharp talons attached to white fingers.
“And so, we cried out for help. For immortality. As the Weaver's dragon did away with many he did not see as worthy enough to pass on to the underworld, we called to the carrion crows and the Raven answered our cries.”
“Vivek.” Nyx touches my hand as Vivek moves the Raven card away and moves to his second to last card in the circle. “Vivek—we've stayed long enough. We came to—,”
“I know why you came!” Vivek snaps. “I've told you before—another came searching for answers. The Weaver came seeking this old crow's knowledge, and now the Voice sits before me.”
Vivek flips the second to last card over.
I see a demon. A skeleton draped in the skin of a human, the leathery hide barely covering his bones. He carries a simple triangular sword carved from sharp obsidian. His eyes are dark holes. Sockets.
Ran scoots his chair backwards. “You've wasted our time long enough.” he hisses, shooting a glare towards Nyx. “With this talk of dead gods and pointless history…”
Vivek silences him with a pointed stare—his glassy eyes fixed on the tall man's face. “Something comes for us all.” he warns—hissing. “But it will wait.”
And Ran stills in his chair. Nyx inhales sharply as my fingers creep towards my throat.
It feels like something's choking me.
“The Raven brought the dead back to life. Mortals became immortal—stuck on these earthly plains—while others who passed the dragon's judgment went on into eternity. Those that failed stayed here, and fed up with being denied passage into the underworld—they fought back against the Weaver's dragon under one banner.”
The final card is flipped. A scream rips through the silence outside.
We freeze in an instant as the card is revealed.
A man on fire.
I croak—I try to speak—but no words come. Nothing comes as I stare at blackened ground covered in pulsing red veins painted upon the card. A man—a man on fire.
I've seen this before.
I've been there!
Vivek turns his murky eyes to me. “The Lord of Fire—the Gate of Dawn—,”
The Dawnlord—I try to murmur.
As the old man brings the card to rest beside the card that once laid at the center of his circle. He flips his last and final card. Ushers the two cards together and pushes them towards me.
I look at the final card, staring into a mirror.
As the Voice of the East stares back.
44. The Gateway
Nyx falls from her chair, collapsing to the floor. I watch her drop to her knees and touch her head to the floorboards with her arms planted over her head. Her palms smack into prayer position. I watch her shoulders tremble.
“You gave me Calanthe's breath,” she murmurs from her place, “if I die—if I die, for me that's it! You never gave me a soul.”
There's another shriek outside—the high pitched crow of a woman's voice. I move in my seat towards Nyx's body. I stand. I open my arms, but I am unable to speak.
These cards—they mean nothing.
“Enough of this nonsense—all I know is that she needs to go to Csilla.” Ran snaps, his chair screeching against the floor as he shoots to standing. “So give her back her voice, old man, and we'll be gone.”
“Please—please, Naia—Voice of the East! Bridge my way—,”
Ran shoves past me. Leans towards Nyx with his hands clenched into fists. “Get up!”
“If I die—,”
“We all go to the same damned place, girl. God or no god—we all go to the same fucking place.”
My gaze moves to the table—only to find it cleared. The cards and old Vivek gone. Vanished in what seems like an instant. Blue light still bobs upon a candle, brightening this grimy place up. But he's gone. Not even his chair remains—almost as if he was never there.
I still cannot speak.
“Nyx—get up.”
Nyx's clasped hands tremble. “No—no, I can't. Before—back then, I knew I was damned. The Lady Diviner put those god pieces inside of me—and others—so many others. I was corrupt—I couldn't sleep. I couldn't dream—I couldn't dream anymore. I ate other humans—blood, blood satisfied me. But now—,” and she brings her head up. She's crying—poor Nyx is crying with little trails of wet creeping down her cheeks.
She hasn't grown a bit—my mind tells me as I crouch. I crouch and offer her a hand.
Nyx swipes it away. Slapping at me.
“You have cured me.” she hisses, bringing her forehead back to the floorboards. “You could have cured them too—the others. The girls—but now—heaven won't accept them. The underworld will throw them to purgatory because their souls are corrupt. But I—I know I—,”
Another scream. Another pause. Another rap of silence shattered by a high-pitched bleating.
“Grant me a soul.” she hisses from her place.
A new shriek makes her tense—makes me hunch my shoulders up to my ears. This one is close—the scream raking at our ears like talons ripping through flesh. This scream—this scream is close.
Ran grips my forearm—tries to pull me up. But I steal my arm away—turn my gaze towards him and almost fall over from my position near Nyx.
A figure shades the entrance to Vivek's hideaway. A woman garbed all in black, a low hood concealing her face. The hood dropping into a sharp point that accentuates a smile. Red lips stretch upon a pale, oval, face.
“Did you enjoy my song?” her voice is cutting. Edged with a croaking dryness. Her smile reaches to the far corners of her face as her bottom lip drops. As bones crackle, shattering at uneven intervals as her jaw unhinges and her mouth becomes an oblong terror. The sound comes again—the long shriek of a wraith that rips at our ears. I slap my hands to both sides of my head—covering my ears as Ran plugs his own—shielding his face with his right arm.
Nyx stands. “Vivek! Vivek come out!” she shouts—blowing out her voice to be heard.
Laughter resonates. The sleepy guffaw resounding as Vivek's answer as the woman
in black closes her mouth—bones clicking back into place.
“I've walked from the Wish to find you. To put you back in your place.”
I open my mouth—willing myself to speak. But nothing comes. Nothing comes as her red lips smile.
“And the gods have taken your voice as punishment. How fitting.” she murmurs—approaching me. She plants a palm onto Ran's chest and with one violent movement—she shoves him towards the far wall. I hear his body thump to the wood of the floor as the air hisses from him. I hear Nyx move behind me.
And I shoot my arm out, stopping her. Barring her from moving against the woman.
I stare into eyes I cannot see as the woman's black cowl hides her face.
“Do you hear the silence?” she asks me, closing the space between us. Her face is but inches away from my own. “Do you hear it? City streets—deafened. Silenced by the flock. Do you hear it?”
Wind moans outside. Rushing through streets that sound empty. That sound devoid of life.
I make no move to speak.
“Silence. It is beautiful—pure and unabated silence. Can you hear it, Naia? The black birds have flown—and the time has come that your interwoven ties to the gateway be severed.”
45. Mimicry
Lore. Lore—I know it's you. Show yourself—show your face!
The hood stays, as does her smile.
“I knew you'd kill her. I knew you'd take her life for this.”
I feel Nyx's chest heave against my arm. Her breath comes in trembling hisses.
“And you were told what would happen—should you fail.”
My eyes widen. I grind my teeth as she opens her mouth to laugh, a rough cackle escapes through parted lips.
“I have woven—everything into being! You—your fate! Your dilemma and your destiny!” and she throws her arms wide—her voice rises. “I have done everything! Everything! But now,” and she lowers her arms. Braces a hand upon my shoulder and digs her nails into the silk of my gown. “there is more to be done. If we want the gods to rise again and bring Sorrel a moment of peace—there is more we must do.”
Remove your hood—show your face! I know who you are!
Lips curl into a satisfied smile. The hood falls. “No,” she breathes. “you do not.”
Violet eyes lock with my own—and white pain explodes behind my eyes. A smoky blackness trails behind it—blinding me. Making me deaf.
And I am adrift.
In a field of nowhere.
…
Calm yourself.
And here you are again.
Go back—go back you your world, mortal!
Why have you returned?
Yarne touched all of us in the way only a mother could. Not an earth bound, human, mother—but a mother from on high. A goddess. She taught us how to harness our gifts—our talents. She taught us the rules of creation. While some had a talent for dancing—for swift feet work—others could weave divine tapestries. Some could write the world into being on a scroll, while others could draw life through the agile flick of a precise brush. Some could sing.
I could sing.
And my eyes open. I expect to touch black earth. I expect to push away pulsating red veins and look into a sky that's crimson, but I do not. An emerald sea wafts out around me. Sparkling grass kissed by a blue sky above.
I push myself up to standing.
I face a mirror.
Why have you returned?
The woman inside intones—I intone.
She is dressed like a goddess—in a dress like breathing ocean waves. Her hair cascades around her, acting as her halo. As her crown of authority. She has my skin—dark. Caramel. She has my wide eyes and my full lips. She is me—in every way, shape, and form—she is me. But her air holds divine authority. Holds a sureness of self.
But she is my reflection. My inner aura thrown back at me by a tall plate of reflecting glass.
I hold my hand towards it—she does the same.
Why have you returned?
I open my mouth to speak—but my throat constricts. I move my hand away, but she crooks a finger towards me. Beckoning me to come. I plant my feet in the grass—staring at her.
Ah, your purpose—your voice.
I take a step towards her as a breeze glides by. Summer winds carry soft pink petals that scatter like sweet rain.
You have come to seek it.
I press my hands upon the glass. It shivers beneath my weight and ripples like the surface of a lake. Her palms find my own as she searches my face. My eyes.
I stare back.
Meet the fire when it comes. Meet it with rain.
And it comes down—rain. Sudden and hurried—rushing from a cloudless sky to pelt me. To drown me in godly tears. Before long, I'm soaked—hair sticking to my forehead as my gown glues itself to my skin. The rain is warm—refreshing as I stand in it. As I back away from the mirror and raise my face to meet it—the rain. I open my arms and turn my palms towards the sky.
To use this power, you must take.
Take from the land. The sea. The sky.
To use this power, child, you must take.
As I plant my naked feet in the wet grass, blades crawl between my toes. I feel as if roots are reaching from the soles of my feet—reaching—reaching—only to curl beneath the dirt and extend towards the hot, molten, core of the world—whatever world this was. When I open my hands—rain slides through the crevices of my fingers. The little droplets sizzle on me—steam wafts up towards the heavens and it makes me feel new. Makes me feel whole.
Whatever happens to me—whatever happens—
My purpose is to bring peace.
Your purpose is to sing.
The voice booms—thunder rolls against the sky as rain pours. As rain continues to fall.
Your purpose has always been to sing.
My voice took lives—and the memory of the crazed women rushing past me in that hall flashes, creeping from the corners of my mind. But singing—singing in the face of fear is what felt natural. It's what felt right.
Their kind was never meant to walk your plains. Their kind was a mistake made from misfortune—from the careless hands of another. Another vessel.
My eyes snap open.
Shanti.
The Weaver.
She sent me here—sent me here to reclaim my voice.
Even gods repent, child. She sent you here to start anew.
As you shall, when your time comes.
But, for the time being—sing. Sing and watch for the Restoration.
Meet the coming fire—
I breathe. Cool air rushes through my nostrils and the rain stops—pausing midair as the world seems to inhale. To stop and take a breath.
The mirror falls away as my reflection steps forth—she is solid now. A person—a goddess in every right. The Voice of the East.
—with rain.
And she becomes ethereal. Her person fading—her body and garments translucent as she approaches me. As she brushes away the frozen droplets in the air and stretches an arm out to reach for me. I let her. I come forth and let her place her thumb to my forehead. A burning sensation erupts. Her skin is like fire.
As my voice returns—air filling my lungs. Rushing into me.
I inhale.
Sing.
To return to your world, you must sing.
46. Noble Wishes
My eyes open to darkness. Dripping water surrounds me, as my gown sticks to me—slick with sweat and humidity. My cheek is flush against a slimy wall of gray rock and I move my face away from it, staring forward as a figure cloaked in black stands before me.
“You're not coming with us?” I hear Nyx say.
There's an old laugh, a dry croak. “I am old, child. Not to mention—I'm also blind.”
I move my gaze towards the noise and notice white light glimmering from a small hole. Nyx climbs down from it, her fingers curling around black rungs of steel. “You won't be any safer if you squat here! The streets are
empty, Vivek!”
The figure in black crouches before me, kneeling with a hand upon her knee. I watch Shanti's face light up as silver tinged hair floods forth, rolling over her shoulders.
“And that is ominous indeed.” the old man teases from up above. “Get going, now. Before they realize you've vanished. Get going.”
And a scraping sound—of heavy iron hissing against splintered wood—echoes throughout this dark and humid landscape as the light above slowly disappears. A bright sliver of white shines down before it's cut away—the porthole above sliding closed with a slam.
I hear Nyx work her way down the ladder rungs, huffing and grunting until she steps down onto stone and dust. “And you're still coming?” she whispers.
“You act like I've got a choice.” Ran snaps in the darkness. He shuffles his feet about an arms distance away from me. “I'm sworn to the Wish—to protect it in any way I can. And if that means escorting these,” he clears his throat, “things far, far, away from my realm—then…”
“It would be suicide to stay here.” Nyx replies, her voice sharp. “Just admit it, Ran. It would be suicide.”
His reply is a deep grunt as his boots scruff stone. No words, just sound.
“Where,” I find myself saying—my voice a throaty croak. “where are we going?”
I can barely see Shanti's face in front of me as she offers me a hand and stands. I take it, and she pulls me up. My legs are unsteady—wobbly as if I haven't been on them for the past couple of hours. Shanti does not let go of my hand as I turn towards Nyx and Ran. “Where are we?”
“An old drainage system.” Ran states matter-of-factly. “As for where we're going—,”
Shanti's fingers squeeze around my own. “The Vale, darling. I have elected to take you to the Vale.”
I blink in the darkness, my eyes somewhat becoming accustomed to it as dark stones come into view behind Shanti's head. A far wall of stone reaches over us—caging us in as water drips a callous melody from somewhere far behind us. My fingers become limp in Shanti's grip.
“No.” I tell her, shaking my head. “I can't go there. I can't run anymore, Shanti.”
Her face twists, confusion guarding her eyes. “Run? Naia, when have you ran? When have you had the choice?” and she laughs—it is a bark. A scream. “This world has pushed and pulled you like an aggressive tide tugging away at a tiny sail boat. When have you had the choice to do much of anything?”
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