My voice sounds calm and in control. As if it belongs to someone else.
“Then that is what we will do,” he says.
He is being so good to me—better than I deserve. But I know what is coming. Eventually he will come back to the necklace again.
And what has it done for me, really? Where has it gotten me? My need to keep Calipher close has taken away the last of my family. The necklace. My hand is wrapped around it now. What did it do to me, in that moment before it happened? As if it knew…but that is impossible.
I listen for the nudging voice inside me, but it has fallen silent.
“I’ll send for Peri.” Bastus dissolves into shadow and darts off into the village.
While I wait I sit next to my mother and study her wounds. It was brutal and vicious, what Taavi did to her. The necklace, the heat, the village’s growing tensions. Perhaps something like this was inevitable.
Peri is just on Bastus’ tail, soaring low through the air.
I stand. Without words, we form a small audience around my mother’s body.
“Nia, I’m so sorry,” she says.
I don’t know what to say. I nod instead. How much did Bastus tell her about what happened? Does she know about the necklace?
“Would you like to do a prayer over her together?” she asks.
I stare down at her stiffening body.
“No. Let’s just burn her.”
“Already? Are you sure? Would you not like to wait and have the village?”
The village? The ones who have shut us out for so long, and blamed us for their misfortunes? The men who stalked me for so many days and brought this terrible event upon me?
“No.”
Peri nods. With some orchestration of her hands, she begins to draw out branches and sticks from the woods. They float to us and shape themselves into a sort of altar. Then she turns and gestures toward my mother’s body, and it rises off the ground and floats on top of it.
Bastus and I follow her lead, and she stands across the altar from us, pronouncing Gloros’ death ritual over my mother.
“Dust to dust, flame to flame, dream to dream,” she begins. “It is the way of all things, and now it is the way of this one, Liora, farmer, wife, mother, a woman of great passions and great dreams, as are we all….“
For followers of Gloros, it always comes back to passions. They are chasers of dreams, pursuers of great emotions, valuing them all equally, the good and the bad.
Was my mother a woman of passions? I realize I do not know. I always thought of her as a woman of great burdens. A woman of duty. A woman who wanted her dinner hot and her home quiet.
It is my passions that have landed us here.
As Peri speaks, she casts charms to pull more tinder from the forest and sets it around the body for the end. When it is big enough she snaps her fingers, and the tinder catches fire.
“And now we give Liora back to the realm, and the goddess who loves her. May her soul carry on into the next with passion bright enough to light the darkest nights, on through the end of time.”
Then we stand there and watch my mother break apart and drift away in ashes. By the time it is finished, the first hints of day are starting to show from the east.
Before Peri leaves, she places a kind hand on my shoulder. “Feel your grief, Nia. And whatever else comes with it. Listen to what it has to say. If you try to escape it, it will keep growing until it consumes you.”
She gives me a half-hearted smile of comfort, and squeezes my shoulder. Then she flies away. Suddenly it hits me how exhausted I am. I drop to the ground and sit. Bastus paces nearby.
“Go ahead. Get it over with,” I say.
“Nia, come on.”
“No. I know you have something to get off your chest. So do it.”
“Your mother just died, you should….” He stops pacing, his back to me. He stares at the ground, caught in reflection. “You are right. I do have things to say. Grief or not, you need to hear them. It might as well be now.”
He turns around and stands in front of me.
“Nia, I don’t know what has had you spiraling out of control, but it has got to stop. Everything is falling apart. You are falling apart, whether you realize it or not.”
“So you are going to blame me, too? I do not control the rain!”
“No—no. But Nia…tensions are high, and you are adding coals to the fire.” He leans forward so that he is looking into my eyes. “Are you hearing me, Nia? Are you understanding?”
His blank, earnest gaze is too much. I look away and stare into the forest instead.
“When Theia called the angels back, it set waves throughout Terath. The other creatures are angry. Saying She had no right. That the First Creatures are owed their own will, just like the humans. Some are even saying they would fight for it. There are even rumors of a few angels who were already so far gone they were able to resist Theia’s summons. Do you know how dangerous that is? Disconnected angels drifting through Terath?”
He pauses and waits for me. But I have nothing to say.
“It if is true, then a war between the realms is coming. In some ways, it has already begun. Even men are murmuring of ending the gods’ reign. Everything is swaying off kilter. The rain, the heat, this is only the beginning, Terath is—”
His rant comes to an abrupt halt. I realize suddenly that tears are streaming twin rivers down my face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I hate being at odds with you. We must stop this.”
A pang of sadness strikes through me like a lightning bolt. “What do you want from me, Bastus?”
He reaches out and takes my hand, folds it between his own. Finally he is looking at me, really seeing me again.
“The necklace. Take it off.”
No. The voice inside me that responds is vicious and stubborn.
But it is not mine.
I do not want to take it off, either. It is the only thing I have left of Calipher. The only way I have to hold onto this peacefulness I have come to need—and I do need it, now more than ever.
But if I am honest with myself, the necklace is beginning to frighten me. A person is dead—my mother is dead. Whether Calipher meant for the necklace to have so much power or not, this has gone too far.
That woman never cared for you anyway. Not since your father passed. Do not let her spoil the rest for you.
I run my fingers over the chain and lift it. As I do, I can feel it pulling against me, begging to stay. The warmth it filled me with dredges through me and turns to rough, grinding edges.
Bastus shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Nia. Calipher made his own choices. And even if he had made the right choices, the others were still out there. But I’m scared. Everything is wrong. The entire realm. You have the power to help make it a little better.”
I take a deep breath, and pull the necklace off in a quick motion. I ball up the chain in my fist and look up to Bastus. He kisses my forehead.
“Your father would be proud,” he says.
I do not know if this is true, but I appreciate the gesture. I turn away and place the necklace into my jewelry box, then set it up on a high shelf in the kitchen.
“I miss him.” I try to form the words but what comes out is more of a sob.
“I know,” he replies. He opens his arms and I lean forward into his chest. His large, strong arms fold around me like a shield from the world, and his eager restlessness fills me.
My arms wrap tight around him, and his restless aura begins to wake up my mind. It is strange, how solid he feels, even though this form he lives in is not his true one. He chooses to look so like men that I forget sometimes how very different Bastus is from me. He is not a man at all. He is a First Creature. A demon.
A shape shifter.
A thought rushes to the forefront of my mind. An unsettled feeling in my stomach tells me to shove it aside, but the idea of it feels too good to let go of. The only thing that feels good right now at all. Taking the necklace
off has left me hollow and achy, and I need to feel something else right now. Anything else.
“Bastus?”
“Yes?”
“Can you take any shape?”
His muscles flex in a wave against me. We never speak of what he is. Not like this.
“Yes.”
I pull away so I can watch his face. “You can look like someone else? Someone who is gone?”
He hesitates, his brows pulling together into a frown as he starts to understand. “I can…but, Nia….” He shakes his head, out of words.
“Please. Just this once. Just let me look at him.”
A slow, heavy sigh eases from him. But then he lets go of me and stands. “Just this once. And only for you.”
Only for me. He would do anything for me, I know this. Guilt twists in my stomach—it is why I asked. I knew he would, for me.
He steps back, then breaks apart into dark shadow, a whirling torrent. Then the shadow comes back together in a new form. My father.
“There now,” my father’s form says. He stretches his arms out to me.
Hot shame floods my cheeks. It is good—and strange—to see my father again after so many years. I run my eyes over his form and take in all the details, those little things about him my child’s mind was not able to hold onto—the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, the way his grin was a little crooked.
But he misunderstood. I shake my head.
“Not him.” I mutter it into my chest, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Too afraid of the expression that I know will break over his face when he understands.
A stiff tension builds between us. And then the rustle of whirling shadow returns.
This time, when he takes shape, he is Calipher.
It is strange, seeing Calipher and feeling Bastus’ aura tingling under my skin. Like leaning into a rose and smelling a lilac. But it is such a great relief to see him again. Like coming home. Bastus chose to take his form with silver wings, like he was when I first reached out to touch them. A sweet detail that does not go unnoticed. A reminder of better times.
Calipher-Bastus comes forward to close the space between us and wraps his arms around me again. His skin has the same feel of cool marble. It’s all exactly the same.
Except for his eyes. When I look into his eyes, they aren’t the soft silver like Calipher has. They are blank. As if there is nothing behind them. I choose to ignore this, because I need to. My head is woozy with all that has happened, and my heart is weak. I need his comfort, even if it comes like this.
Before I realize what I am doing, I lean in and kiss him. His lips melt into mine, but then he flinches away.
“Not like this, Nia,” he whispers. “Please.”
He is right. This is wrong. He deserves better.
I almost pull away. But I miss him so terribly.
When I kiss him again, his guard breaks down. He hesitates, then kisses me back. A long, soft kiss packed with all his desire, all his years of longing and loneliness. The next thing I know, we are sprawled out on the dusty, thirsty ground, our robes pooled around us.
It is different this time, and not just because of the strange buzz of his mismatched aura. Where Calipher was primal and urgent, Bastus is gentle and warm.
With my eyes closed and Bastus’ aura pulsing over me, I can’t hold on to Calipher’s presence. So I keep my eyes open and watch as the morning sun rises, glistening off of his wings, spread wide around us.
It is not enough, but it is as close as I can get. It lessens the void inside me that the necklace left behind.
The restless heat works between us. The thick air clings to our skin. As the sun tips over the horizon, it sticks to us in lazy, hot beams.
When we are done, Calipher rolls away from me, sitting up and curling into himself. His expression is gloomy and stiff.
Suddenly I feel as though he is realms apart from me. As if we have been severed forever in some way.
“Bastus, I—”
“Yesterday was a terrible day for you.” He cuts me off. “You should be in bed.”
His voice is gentle, but he won’t look at me. Still in Calipher’s form, he wraps my robe around me, scoops me into his arms, and carries me into the house.
He places me in my bed. “Now rest.”
“Bastus.”
He still won’t look at me. Instead he leans over me and kisses my forehead.
“Bastus. Don’t leave like this. You’re worrying me.”
He turns away.
“You will come see me later?” I beg.
He squeezes my hand, and then Calipher’s form breaks away into shadow, and both of them are gone, leaving me all alone.
CHAPTER 15
IN THE DAYS after my mother’s death, I keep finding myself outside the house, staring at the sky. I wait for the rain to come back. If the gods were withholding it from us because of my sins with Calipher, because of my sins coveting his gift, haven’t I suffered enough to pay for it yet? Haven’t the people in the village? The poor thirsty crops of my fields?
I took the necklace off.
But still the rain doesn’t come. Each day the buzz of the air’s flat heat builds. The ground has crumbled to dust that kicks up in the wind and stings the eyes. The sun beats so strongly my shoulders sag under it. All the wheat of my mother’s fields, already a sickly yellow, begins to wilt back toward the earth.
My body feels stale and crusted in guilt. My head throbs with grief. The air is heavy with the moisture that will not drop to the ground, making me work to pull it in and out of my lungs.
I should do something.
Usually, a murder like my mother’s is something to report to the village council. But what could I say to them? How to explain?
And if I do not, how do I explain Mother’s death then? She is still gone, either way.
In my sadness and shock, no action feels appropriate. So I drift through the sweltering days the best I can, and let the others spread the word that Liora has passed away. Let the rumors spread.
Around me, the town is slowly going mad, folding under the sun’s pressure. Fights break out over nothing at the market. The people are so out of control that when I go back home sometimes I climb up on top of the cupboard to make sure the necklace is still there, safely hidden away—that I have not, in my desperate emptiness, slipped it back around my neck.
Without Mother’s presence looming over the house, I find a new kind of quiet in it. There is no one to bluster in at the end of the day, none of her stormy moods souring the space. No one to snap and grumble, or to sit in a silent haze in the corner as if I do not exist at all.
Within the home, it is as if the clouds have cleared, and let the sunshine through.
No, I chide myself. I miss her. I do. She did not deserve the end she got.
And this is true. But so is all the rest of it.
With her gone, what about the fields? How will I keep trading for food once the existing grain is gone? The questions fester, always at the back of my mind, but no answers come to me.
I am shocked out of my thoughts by a rap at the door. No one has made their way out this far since Mother died and I took the necklace off.
When I open the door, I find myself face to face with Taavi, coated in sweat and panting, clearly struggling from the walk out here and the heat. A wave of anger and fear wash over me. My hand wanders compulsively to my throat, checking for the necklace that is not there.
“What are you doing here?”
But this is not the Taavi the necklace had a hold on, the mindless follower who slammed Mother back against the house. This Taavi has dark circles under his eyes, and his skin is sallow. He keeps pushing his hair back from his forehead, as if it were keeping him from seeing something gravely important.
“Your mother,” he says. He speaks so quickly the words run together. “I couldn’t have, could I? I wouldn’t. Nia, you must tell me it is not true. I keep seeing it over and over.”
The strange wa
y his bloodshot eyes wander makes the back of my neck prickle with uneasiness.
“Taavi, calm down. What are you trying to say?”
“It is crazy, I know it is,” he says. “But I need you to tell me, Nia. Tell me I did not kill Liora.”
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again, at a loss for words. What does he remember? His eyes flicker over my face.
“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods….“ He says it to himself more than to me. “It was real, it was real.”
What can I say to explain? I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. He reads my face.
“I hoped it was a dream. It has to have been. Why would I hurt Liora? It all felt so far away and removed. But it felt so necessary. It felt…it felt….” He squints, losing his words in thoughts. “You. I had to do it for you….”
A sickening darkness wrenches through my core. It didn’t occur to me that he might remember.
“Taavi.” I shake him by his shoulder to pull his attention back to me. His eyes roll reluctantly to mine. “What happened…it was not your fault.”
I am not sure where I am going with this. I just need him to be calm.
“But I killed her. I killed Liora. The wife of one my greatest friends, and a good business partner.”
“No, Taavi.” My hand is a fist, clenched tight around his robe. “What you remember, it was not you.”
I need him to let this go. It is the only way I can let it go. But how can I make him understand without explaining it all to him?
He blinks. “But….”
“You were under a magical influence.”
“Magic?” He looks dazed.
“Yes.”
“But we have to tell. What if it happens again?” He looks at me the way a child looks to a parent. Like he is lost, like he needs someone else’s direction.
“It won’t. The magic that made it happen is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes. It is gone.”
He nods, but his eyes are empty, and I know he still does not understand.
“I killed her, Nia. How could I do that?”
“No.” I shake him from his shoulder. “You did not. Do you understand me?”
It was me, I want to shout. I killed her with my arrogance and stubbornness. With my resentment and my thoughtless need to fill my craving for something peaceful.
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