Stone and String

by Stephanie Flint

  Edyli nodded. She would not have expected her family to miss the first rites. They would have already said the Anati’Kesllahme, the Farewell of the Living, as soon as they knew she was gone. She touched her fingers to her short hair and imagined the tiny kedesi dolls made from the hair of those who had passed into Madia’s realm. Had they already made kedesime for her?

  “Edyli…”

  She looked up as the acolyte spoke. He offered her a tiny glass vial on a beaded string.

  “You should keep this with you at all times. Keep it hidden. If something should happen and you receive a wound which would kill you, this might give you time to get help before you go mad.”

  A chill wracked her body, but she took the vial. “I drank more than this earlier, and I still felt like I was going mad.”

  “This is far more concentrated,” he acknowledged. “But do not drink it unless you would otherwise die. You will barely be able to run without falling.” He tapped the glass, then paused. He gestured to her neck. “May I?”

  She automatically reached to pull back her hair, then realized again that it was gone. At least my neck will be cooler, she thought glumly.

  The acolyte strung the necklace over her head, then stepped back, satisfied. He bowed at the waist and clasped his hands before him. “Sican naketonia quisé.”

  The goddess who helped her had also told her that. She bit her lip. “Do you know of a goddess who would say the same thing? Cirenan in origin, I think, but capable of traveling Madia’s realm?”

  His smile widened and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps. But there are many goddesses within the Cirenan pantheon.”

  “She wore her hair in braids, in a scarf. Wore a short-sleeved tunic, and silver bangles.”

  He chuckled. “Do you think I know every goddess in the Cirenan pantheon?”

  “Well, no.” She ducked her head, heat flowing to her cheeks. The emptiness in her chest ached, but the ache had faded to a dull thrum.

  The acolyte motioned to her clothes. “You should get dressed if you want to see your sister’s rites.”

  Her heart jumped. She grabbed the skirt and stepped into it, then hurriedly shrugged her choli over her shoulders.

  “Oh, and Edyli?”

  She looked up sharply. He stood under the archway.

  “If you are curious, you might check the scrolls for ‘Meshon.’ She is a goddess who commonly frequents the mortal world.” The evening light twinkled in his eyes before he stepped outside the room and went on his way.

  Edyli blinked. Was she imagining things, or did he know more than he told her?

  Either way, he was gone now, so she tugged the funeral garb from under her clothes and cast it aside. She doubted she would need it. But she was going to be late unless she ran. She sprinted down the hall, stumbling every few steps, determined to find the place of her sister’s rites.

  Firelight twisted and danced through the gold-granite columns of Megi’Sam, the Temple of Rites. The flickering light set the carved statues of Cantingen deities to dancing with their shadows. Her feet stung from the run across dusty streets, but the smooth stone underfoot soothed her bare toes. Ahead, soft chanting echoed through the dimly lit hall.

  “Lisandréav mu tor shadi’megi. Lisandréav mu tor nocho Akymi Nesida Inlleku chono.”

  We call all to witness the rites of magic. We call all to witness Akymi Nesida Inlleku.

  Edyli smiled. They had not yet begun the rites, and they would continue their call until they did. She gathered her skirt in her hands and slid to a halt just before the sanctuary became visible. She darted from column to column and knelt beside a miniature statue of Ruetravahn. She smiled at the statue, then looked toward the wooden dais.

  Three priestesses stood on the platform. One wore pale blue robes and a black scarf with silver ribbons. She was a priestess of Lishivant, the god of creation and ribbon magic. This was one of the few rites in the Islands where Lishivant was recognized, as the god had long ago retired into the Immortal Realm.

  The second priestess wore a dark purple robe, her silver scarf draped over her head like a veil. Loose threads fringed her skirt. She spoke for Madia. Edyli shuddered. Would the priestess know she was here?

  The final priestess wore bright ribbons of every color, and a mask of feathers that were shaped into that of a bird’s head. Even her hands were tangled with thread. This priestess would not speak during the entire performance. All of her words were tied to the movements of her hands and her feet, each movement representing a rune of Cantingen word magic. Her dance would speak for her. She was Karewalin, or could be, if the being of magic chose to inhabit her body. They were, after all, born from the strings of Karewalin, and it was she who answered when a word mage called on her.

  The priestesses of Lishivant and Madia stepped forward. “We welcome every mortal here,” they chanted. “May the gods and goddesses grant you good health. Today is a day of learning. Today is a day of revelation. Today is a day of magic and future. We welcome Akymi Nesida Inlleku before us.”

  A little girl rose from the bench nearest to the dais. Edyli’s heart leapt to her throat. Finally… finally the moment she had fought for. She sank beside the column and wrapped her arms around the statue to steady herself.

  Akymi’s hair had been braided with ribbons and tucked around her ears like a wreath. Her orange scarf was pinned at the crown of her braids. Golden beads embroidered the scarf with white blossoms and peacock feathers. Her choli shone with an iridescent blue and green sheen, and her skirt reflected the firelight in blue glass beads.

  “You look beautiful,” Edyli whispered, though she knew the girl would not hear.

  Akymi hesitated before taking the first step onto the raised platform. The priestesses waited, patient. Then the girl turned around, looking into the audience. She wrung her hands in her skirt. Her wide eyes scanned the crowd.

  Edyli held her breath. What was she waiting for?

  Akymi turned her gaze to the empty seat beside their vera, and Edyli finally understood. She was waiting for her. The girl took one last look at the priestesses, then sprinted across the benches, hopping from one to the other and navigating the throng of temple-goers. A hushed gasp rose from the crowd. Their vera stood quickly. “Akymi! Akymi—”

  Edyli swept from the columns and intercepted the girl before she could run past. She wrapped her arms around her little sister. The girl squeaked, whacked her tiny fist hard across Edyli’s cheek, then stared at her, stunned.

  “Edyli?” she whispered.

  Edyli winced and nodded. Not the worst injury she had today. “I am here, little sister.” She forced a smile and her cheek throbbed.

  Akymi stared at her, her brown eyes wide. “But… but… Vera said…”

  Edyli wrapped her in a tight hug. “I am back. Now come. We have your rites to attend to.” She tucked Akymi’s hand in hers, offered the child a broad smile, and returned down the aisle, her head held high.

  The crowd whispered, pointing. She did her best to ignore them. She had not had time to change out of the red skirt and choli. As such, every single one of them knew she was fa nor. The scar on her neck confirmed just that.

  Still, she smiled. Once she reached the dais, she looked each priestess in the eye, then bowed, her hands pressed together before her. “Please forgive my intrusion.”

  She knelt beside Akymi. “Go on,” she whispered. “Be brave. There are no peacocks here… none but you.” She tickled the girl and poked her under the arm. Akymi giggled. Edyli smiled, then took her seat.

  Her vera stared at her, mouth aghast. “How are you alive?” She caught sight of the scar on Edyli’s throat, squirmed, and scooted away.

  Edyli’s chest tightened at the sight of her vera’s discomfort. “I will explain later,” Edyli whispered. She did not want to take anything more from her sister’s rites.

  Akymi hurried up the steps, beaming. The priestess continued their chants, and
then the priestess of Karewalin danced, undulating like ribbons in a wind. Her feathers dipped and spun, her ribbons twirled, and a light filled the stage. Small at first, no bigger than Akymi’s fist, then larger and larger until it encompassed the entire temple.

  The priestess spun to a halt.

  The entire room dimmed, a faint purple cast flowing to everyone in the audience. Ribbons, free-floating, the color of jade, swam through the air around Akymi. They dove, playful. The girl gasped and reached to touch one. The ribbon darted up and touched her fingers. Akymi giggled and hopped from toe to toe.

  A tiny pang resounded through Edyli’s chest, and she pressed her fingers to her collarbone. The ache, the loss of her death magic remained. But this… She did not dare close her eyes. Her little sister ran around the dais, chasing the jade ribbons as they teased the priestesses.

  “Her physical prowess may be renowned,” Lishivant’s priestess called. “Her ribbons may help her in many an endeavor.”

  Edyli smiled. Climbing trees was one of them.

  The feathered priestess danced once more, and the light faded. Akymi pouted as the ribbons disappeared. Edyli held her breath. If Akymi could manipulate string magic, then their reunion would be short-lived. Her fingers tingled and she fought the urge to fidget in the darkness.

  Faint strings shimmered into life, weaving and winding within those upon the dais. Akymi stared up at the priestesses, confused. “Akymi Nesida Inlleku has no affinity for string magic,” the priestess of Madia called. “Her training shall remain here, on the main islands.” Edyli let out her breath and finally relaxed. Akymi would remain here. Here, where they could be together.

  Edyli paused. In the darkness, that growing darkness, the strings of life and death shimmered among everyone present. Two strings each, pale and purple-white.

  One for life, and one for death.

  Two strings each, except for Edyli, who had only one.

  She closed her eyes, cleared her thoughts, and then focused on Akymi. Her little sister was alive with all of her magic, and that was all that mattered.

  Acknowledgements

  “Stone and String” came about as a challenge to myself between projects. I was waiting for editing notes on Distant Horizon and fixing plot issues in The Shadow War, but while I waited, I wanted to write. I wanted to explore the Cantingen language that I’ve been creating, and the mythology of the Cantingen Islands.

  The answer came in the form of a short story. If you know me, you know I have a hard time keeping things short. A short story turns into a novella and a novella turns into a novel. Luckily, “Stone and String” managed to keep itself to its word limit. That being said, Edyli may have more adventures to come, if my daydreams are any indication.

  In the meantime, I would like to thank the beta-readers who took time to offer feedback on “Stone and String.” I really appreciate your insights. I also want to thank my family and their support for my creative endeavors, and I’d also like to thank my husband, who shares his stories with me as we build worlds together. Finally, I’d like to thank those who took a chance on my first novella, Magic’s Stealing, and to thank you, the reader, for giving “Stone and String” a read. I hope you enjoyed the story, as I had a lot of fun writing it.

  ~Stephanie

  About the Author

  Photograph by Isaac Flint

  Stephanie Flint (formerly Stephanie Bibb) graduated from the University of Central Missouri with a Bachelor of Science in photography and a minor in creative writing. She merged the two interests into book cover design and photographic illustration, but she particularly enjoys writing speculative fiction.

  Stephanie lives with her husband, Isaac. Together they plot stories in the form of tabletop role-play games, and enjoy the occasional cosplay.

  Online, Stephanie often goes by the nickname of SBibb.

  Thank you for reading Stone and String!

  Please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailer. Honest reviews—negative and positive— are helpful for the author, as they help readers find books they enjoy.

  Thanks again!

  Not ready to leave the world of “Stone and String?”

  Visit Cirena in Magic’s Stealing, the first book of The Wishing Blade series.

  For centuries, ribbons of magic have provided the kingdom of Cirena with light, healing, and protection. Then, in a span of minutes, those ribbons fly from their masters, stolen, save for the magic of a few chosen mages. One of these mages is Toranih, a young noblewoman who would rather have a sword in her hand than use her powers to heal or throw fireballs. As a result, her magic skills are lacking. But with former mages dying from magic withdrawal, and the looming threat of an army of shadows who are impervious to mortal weapons, she must either embrace the responsibilities of a mage or watch her home perish.

  Connect with the Author

  Blog: http://sbibb.wordpress.com

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