The Eternal Edge Of Aether

by Nicola Claire

  I suddenly realise what Dora had been trying to say. I have walked into my mother’s trap, not because of an old love affair. Not because of what has transpired per se.

  But because this could have been Casey.

  The Queen chose well, and poor Melita got in her way.

  “Light a fire in the middle of camp,” I say to Aktor. “Spread the word. Tonight we pray to Aetheros. Tonight we return to the old ways.”

  Aktor looks up at me and nods his head, a small smile gracing his weathered features.

  “Your father ignored the old ways,” he says.

  “That he did, my friend. At his peril. I will not make the same mistake.”

  Chapter Nine

  I Think That Is Enough For This Evening

  The fire is burning brightly by the time I enter the light of its blaze. People stand aside for me, heads bowed, faces grave. A soft murmur of voices rushes like the wind through the crowd. I am aware my mother is watching. She’s not sure exactly what I am attempting to do. She has forgotten the old ways.

  Or dismissed their relevance.

  But some have not. Some look to me with hope and heartache. Some nod their heads and clasp their hands, their eyes splashing gold across the landscape. In the distance, I see the Nero have moved closer. Their sea creatures writhe and swarm and float above them. The Areas watch from their side of the camp; wary, alert, expectation written on their faces.

  I do this not for them, but they too will benefit from a reminder.

  We are Athanatos. We are Aetheros’ children. We are responsible for the balance of the Elements, but first, we must have peace and harmony within ourselves; within our families.

  I walk up to the fire, feel Fire reach out and greet me; an old friend. I lift a hand and curl the flames around my wrist, and then let the flickering light engulf my entire body. When I turn back to the crowd, I am wreathed in Pyrkagia. I am ablaze.

  “We are Athanatos,” I say. My voice carries on the fingers of Fire to each and every one of them. “We are Aetheros’ children.” They all nod in solemn agreement. “We are in pain.”

  Someone lets out a cry of anguish. Perhaps more than one is now aware of what has happened to Melita. They grieve, and they too will soon rage.

  “Punishment will be sought,” I announce. The Fire flares brightly. “The guilty will pay.”

  My mother begins to turn away. Mikkos and Leon offer me a dismissive glance and make a scene of pushing through the crowd, their backs to me.

  “But first,” I say. “We will pray.”

  I lift my arm out in front of my body, the flames licking across my skin. With my free hand, I slide a long dagger from its sheath at my side and then slice my wrist.

  Blood pools on the surface and then sizzles and then gets fed to the flames.

  The colour of the fire changes; from a bright yellow and an intense orange to a vibrant blue tipped red flame. Mikkos and Leon turn back; shock mars their faces. I cannot see my mother.

  “Tonight,” I say as I feed the fire. “I honour Aetheros in the old ways. I spill my blood as a promise. I feed the flames so they may once again sustain. I pay, so you do not pay. I pay so Pyrkagia can come together. So our people can be one. I pay, so you do not pay.”

  The fire blazes brightly. I am almost lost to the flames. Pyrkagia gasps. Holds its breath. Then blazes.

  “I pay, so you do not pay,” I say again.

  “You pay, so we do not pay,” the crowd says.

  And then a well of power, of Aetheros’ power, spreads out around us. My father is an Ancient. A direct descendant of Aetheros himself. I am his only child. The grandson of a god. The blood that flows through my veins is not as potent as my father’s. But it is more potent than some.

  And they feel it. Pyrkagia feels it. Aetheros feels it. The Nero and the Aeras and the Alchemists feel it. I spill my blood to honour our god and remind us all that we are one.

  No one can escape his judgement. No one can ignore his presence. If Aetheros speaks, we shall all listen. If Aetheros condemns, we shall all pay.

  His absence from our world has made us forget the old ways. The ways of our god. Crimes have gone unpunished. Sins have had too much leeway. A corrupt King was able to rule with terror and faced no judgement. We let him. We forgot the old ways.

  But Aetheros has returned, and he is mighty. When called upon to share our rage, our god is frightful. I have called upon him now. I face our god, so my people do not have to.

  Whoever harmed Melita will pay. That is a promise I have made. But ours is a brutal world, and brutal crimes warrant brutal responses. Aetheros judges us all on the single behaviour of one.

  For we are responsible for all Athanatos, as we are responsible for all the Elements.

  I wait for my god’s judgement. I wait for the agony to begin. We may have forgotten a lot, but I inherently know that this will hurt.

  I am not afraid of pain. My only fear is failure.

  But nothing happens. The Fire blazes. Everyone holds their breath.

  And then Casey suddenly appears in the flickering flames, behind her I see Hippolytos and, damn it all to hell, Isadora.

  If I wasn't waiting for my god to smite me, I might have smitten Dora for her pigheadedness.

  People start to realise that Aether is here. Even though Casey is no longer Aether, in their eyes she still is.

  The shaman’s cackling. Nero’s sea creatures wail. Pyrkagia as one step back from the flames.

  I know my mother has returned and I am consumed by worry. Casey may still be in the Amazon, but she is close enough for my mother to strike at her. Isadora catches my eye from within the fire. She smirks. I notice Hip is chanting, his eyes white, his head tipped back. He’s moved them through the atmosphere.

  She can’t be harmed.

  I breathe at last.

  Aetheros smiles. I’m not sure how I know that, but I feel our god with us. Around us. Smiling.

  Well, this is not at all what I had expected would happen.

  “Aetheros says to tell you all to behave,” Casey says from the fire, her voice distorted by the crackling of the flames.

  “He does, does he?” I say.

  “Yeah. Don't know why I got the message, but there you go.”

  I know why. Because Aetheros is reminding us what we’ve already been through. What Casey has been through for us.

  “Thank our god for his words of wisdom,” I offer, inclining my head.

  “OK,” Casey says as if she’ll do just that and isn’t at all fazed by the request.

  She glances at Hip and then at Dora; a small frown marring her features when she looks at my Second.

  “Is it OK if they stay for dinner?” she asks.

  This is surreal. I blink. I want in that instant to go to her. I want to forget about politics and evil deeds and my mother and father. I want to sit down to a meal with my Thisavros and savour every inch of her face as she sits across a table from me. I want to tell her I love her.

  But Pyrkagia still needs me.

  “Of course,” I say. “Tell them to take their time.”

  She smiles. My heart aches.

  I love you, I think to her.

  No matter what, I imagine her saying.

  The fire flickers then dies down and then fades back to harmless orange and yellow flames.

  Everyone looks at me.

  “I think that’s enough for this evening,” I say.

  Several people nod their heads. I cannot see Mikkos or Leon or my mother. But there are more people here than there would be if they were still in Camp Crazy.

  I’ve clawed back some ground. But I am still worried.

  As I return to the tent housing Melita, I know my mother will strike again.

  And I am not certain I can pull another trick out of my hat like that.

  There is nothing left to remind our people. All I had going for me were the old ways.

  And even the old ways have changed since Casey.

 
Chapter Ten

  Just Don’t

  It’s two days before Nico can arrange a meeting with my mother. In those two days, Melita has not talked. Sonya has tended her well, and Noah has made frequent visits to the tent. But Melita has refused any further contact with Pyrkagia.

  The realisation that one of our own did this to her hurts.

  I cannot push her to tell me what happened, but I am set to meet with my mother this evening, and I need to know what I am walking into.

  The human emerges from the tent at my quietly called greeting. She looks tired and pale, having not spent much time outside of it for forty-eight hours. She runs a hand through her hair and stretches her back, tipping her face up to the late afternoon sky, eyes closed.

  Nico is an immobile force of heat beside me. His eyes devouring every inch of Sonya’s form. He says nothing. Neither of us does. We allow the woman to soak up the last of the sun’s rays undisturbed. When she finally opens her eyes and looks at me, I know she is ready.

  I also know Sonya Marin is not stupid. She’s aware of why I am here, and she’s been stalling.

  I look down at the ground at our feet and then walk a few steps away. Melita may not be talking, but she is quite capable of listening. I do not wish to cause her further heartache.

  Sonya follows behind me, Nico now at her side. We stop and look across the camp. It has become more permanent in the past two days. The paths between tents and makeshift huts starting to show wear. Clearly defined areas for cooking and trading of scavenged goods are now noticeable. There’s even a central courtyard where the fire of prayer is kept burning.

  The old ways have returned, but we are still hurting.

  “Has she spoken yet?” I ask Sonya.

  “No.” She shakes her head. She looks at me warily. By now I had hoped Sonya would realise I would never harm her.

  But then I acknowledge it is for Melita she shows fear.

  I am not used to explaining myself.

  “I need to know what happened,” I say.

  Sonya crosses her arms over her chest defiantly.

  “The perpetrator must pay,” I add, hoping this will convince her.

  But not all humans are as bloodthirsty as Athanatos.

  “She’s not talking,” Sonya says.

  “I need her to.”

  “No. You need to back off.”

  “I haven’t even been in the tent,” I argue.

  “Not from lack of trying.”

  This isn't working. I need Sonya to understand the ramifications of not responding to this grievous act.

  “Look around the camp,” I say to her.

  She scowls at me but then takes a cursory glance at our surroundings.

  “What do you see?” I ask.

  “Displaced people trying to start over.”

  “You’re thinking like a human.”

  “I am a human,” she snaps.

  I smile with a flash of teeth.

  Sonya takes a step back.

  Nico shifts closer to her and throws me a warning glare. I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

  “Please,” I say. She arches her brow. “Look again. Look past your humanity. What do you see?”

  She slowly shakes her head at me.

  “I have no freaking idea what you're talking about.” But she does look harder at the camp.

  “There are a lot of fires,” she eventually says.

  “Where?”

  She glares at me and then starts winding a strand of her hair around a finger nervously. The tip ends up between her teeth.

  “Sonya,” I press.

  “OK, OK. I see floating fires, like fireflies or something, and I see a lot of scorch marks. And that guy over there looks like he might be on fire, but no one seems too bothered about it. Not even him. And…and…”

  “And what?”

  “It feels tense or something. Like all the fires are about to explode.”

  I let out a breath of air and nod my head.

  “If I do nothing,” I say, “Pyrkagia might just explode.”

  “What does that mean?” she demands.

  “It means we are unstable right now. Hurting. Some of this is because I have challenged the Rigas to Right of Rule. But some of this is because of what has happened to Melita.”

  Sonya looks up at me, her fingers frantically knotting in her hair.

  “Why? I mean, shit happens, right? And I'm not saying that because I want to downplay what’s happened to Melita; it’s heinous, I get that. But life isn’t exactly a bed of roses for anyone right now, so why is this tipping you lot over the edge?”

  I am momentarily surprised at her assessment. It seems somehow less human than I would have expected. Sonya has always been on the fringes of our adventures; unable to see how the world is manipulated by our Stoicheio. To her, a floating orb of fire is a swarm of fireflies. Her human mind finds human explanations for preternatural things.

  But in this, she is being logical. She is looking past her humanity at what truly lies beneath.

  “Because it challenges my right to rule,” I say.

  “It’s politics?” she growls impressively. “That’s it?”

  “More or less,” I say. “We do not condone the act as humans would not condone the act. But what has the camp so unsettled is that punishment has not yet been meted.”

  “And this is a reflection on you?”

  “Yes. I have made the challenge, and therefore I must punish the offence.”

  “Not the Rigas? Not the Queen?”

  “No. A Right of Rule places the crown in stasis. Until the challenge is met, crown responsibilities fall to the challenger. It is an opportunity to impress. To prove their right to rule. Usually, the challenge is met within hours of being placed. But we are…”

  “Not usual,” she finishes.

  “I was going to say, not in a usual place.”

  Sonya looks around the camp and nods her head.

  “So, why haven’t you fought him yet?”

  Fought my father yet.

  “Because I must call the Council to accept the challenge first.”

  “And usually that’s done within hours, too?”

  “Yes.”

  She looks back toward the tent where Melita is sequestered and frowns. My eyes narrow at her expression, but she shakes her head and smooths her features.

  “So, what now?” she asks. “You want me to get Melita to talk?”

  “If she will not talk to me, then perhaps she will feel able to talk to you,” I say.

  “I doubt that,” she mutters. Then straightens up and says, “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Thank you,” I force myself to say. “But I need answers before the hour is up.”

  “You just had to go and act all douche-baggie, didn't you?” she mutters.

  Nico snorts. I blink down at the human and try not to flash any teeth.

  “One hour,” she whispers. “And I thought dealing with the bitch-cow was hard enough.”

  I look toward Nico, who only grins widely.

  “You can do it, babe,” he says.

  “Don’t,” Sonya snaps, holding up an open palm toward him. “Just don’t.” And then she walks back to the tent and disappears inside.

  “If I have to sleep out in the cold,” Nico growls low at my side, “because of you, cousin; I will burn you into ashes.”

  I wonder if he will get the chance. Either Sonya will fry me or my mother will. And that’s not even considering the inferno of my father.

  Nico is at the back of a very long line.

  Chapter Eleven

  Who Then?

  I find Hippolytos trading some Aeras goods at a stall. He accepts the piece of fruit from the vendor as if it is priceless. Two hands cup the orange, his face unnaturally bright. He bows low. The vendor is too busy to notice. I see the flash of Inca gold before the man slips Hip’s payment out of sight.

  “Don’t tell me you paid for that orange with an artefact,” I murmur,
as he comes alongside me.

  “Grandfather has a craving,” he says and tucks the orange away for safe keeping.

  “It astounds me what the shaman prizes.”

  “It astounds him that you do not prize the same things.”

  “An orange?” I query dismissively.

  “Life,” Hippolytos replies simply.

  I stare down at him; feeling strangely reprimanded as if I were a child.

  “He plans to plant the seeds,” Hip adds.

  “Oh,” I manage. “That makes sense.”

  “Yes. I thought it would. Being Aether’s sword must count for something.”

  I glare at the man. He smirks back at me.

  “Is it my day to be scolded?” I say bemusedly.

  Hip’s smirk turns into a grin.

  “We all need a hobby,” he deadpans.

  “Great. Just great,” I mutter.

  “You have a request for me,” he says, turning the conversation abruptly one-eighty degrees.

  “You heard that on the wind?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps you do not seek me out unless you require something.”

  I tip my head back and close my eyes. This day just gets better and better. And I have still not met with my mother.

  “Don’t worry,” Hippolytos advises. “For now, this is your role. And my role is to acquiesce.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means, Prince of Pyrkargia, that swords need to be sharp when they are in use. And right now, Aether needs to use you.”

  “To maintain balance.”

  “Yes.”

  I sigh. This whole Aether’s sword thing has gotten away from me. But Hippolytos is right; I need to be sharp. And if asking the shaman’s grandson for help is something that will get the job done, then I will gladly do it.

  Cassandra did not sacrifice so much for it all to be torn asunder by my mother.

  “The human is attempting to discover who harmed Melita,” I say.

  “Away from prying eyes?” Hip guesses.

  I nod my head. “I need you to listen in.”

  He frowns. “I am happy to ask the Air to lend an ear,” he says, “but will the human not divulge what Melita tells her?”