The Ever Cruel Kingdom

by Rin Chupeco

  “Haidee and Odessa are trying to help us, and you know that!” Lisette interjected.

  “Yes, but their objections are valid. It’s reasonable to assume that a young goddess would choose to side with her mother even after everything. You’ve only known them a few days, Lisette. Lady Haidee has spent all her life within the Golden City. Such bonds are hard to break. You’ve known Lady Odessa even less.”

  “I’m not going to kill Mother,” I said angrily. “And I’m not responsible for my mother’s actions. If anything, we’ve had to clean up their messes.”

  “Most people here find it hard to separate us from them,” Haidee said quietly. “We’re goddesses. Goddesses broke the world. Nobody thinks much about the nuances when they’re angry.”

  I looked at her, wondered how it must feel to be reviled your whole life for something you didn’t do. As sheltered as I’d been, I’d had my people’s support. “That still isn’t an excuse.”

  Tamera snorted. “I have a duty to protect my clan. I would be a fool to believe you would come to our assistance if you had to choose between us and your mother.”

  I shook my head. “I would put myself in harm’s way first. But Lan is right. I would much rather that we ignore them both altogether, and instead concentrate on other options.”

  “They will have their hands full with each other,” Haidee agreed. “We should put our efforts into untangling what we know of Brighthenge and the rituals.”

  “According to the rituals of Brighthenge,” Tamera said stiffly, “all it takes to revive the world is the sacrifice of one goddess.”

  Haidee and I froze. Tamera might only have said it to prove a point, but it was a threat all the same.

  “All our troubles began the day we attempted to force such a sacrifice,” Salla said sharply. “Sacrifice one now, and you will have three angry goddesses to contend with.”

  “I have no intentions of performing such distasteful rites. But the others are aware of them, and it will only be a matter of time before that stirs up more resentment. You may be goddesses, but you’re both woefully naive to think that this will pass without bloodshed.”

  “Are you saying that sacrificing another goddess would stop this . . . invasion, and return Aeon to what it was before?” Minh asked.

  “There will be no more sacrifices,” Mother Salla thundered sharply.

  The Rockhopper clan master spread their hands. “It was only a question, Salla.”

  “Let us start with what we already know,” Ilenka, the Sidewinder mistress, said. “What are these portals that you mention, Your Holiness? A method by which the goddesses can travel from one end of Aeon to the other?”

  “I never knew they existed until I reached the Abyss,” Haidee admitted. “I originally thought they were only accessible from Brighthenge, and that they led to only two destinations—one back here to the desert, and another to Odessa’s city. It explained how the two goddesses were separated during the Breaking. But now I’m not so sure. Asteria could not have traveled to the Great Abyss this quickly in order to access the portal found there—which means there must be some way to access it from Aranth, the city she founded. And there must be a way to access Brighthenge from here, too.”

  “Wherever that is,” Giorme said, “it would be near Asteria’s camp, in the territory the Aranthians currently occupy. We would need to get past them if we think to use it.”

  “Aranthians,” Lan echoed, slightly bemused.

  “Was that the wrong term to call your people, Lady Lan?”

  “No. It’s just that we never thought to define ourselves with any terms before. We thought we were the last humans on Aeon. There were no other groups to distinguish ourselves from.”

  That was true. I’d always thought we were the last settlement on Aeon. It seemed inconceivable to me then that there was any human life beyond the storms and the monsters that purportedly roamed the lands outside of our territory.

  “Would it even be possible for us to access the portal?” Tamera asked. “Or are the goddesses the only ones capable of such travel?”

  “We can use it without requiring a goddess’s aid,” Lan said, expression suddenly wooden.

  “Lan,” I said softly.

  “How can you be so sure, Lady Lan?” the Fennec clan mistress wanted to know.

  “Because I went through that portal on my own, once. A few months ago, Asteria tasked me to lead a team to the Great Abyss, in an attempt to learn more about what had transpired during the Breaking. Asteria had thought to see if the temple still stood, believed there were secrets there we could benefit from. I know now that she lied. We reached the edges of the Abyss, but we were beset by creatures made of shadow, and my whole team was killed. The demons there spared me, sent me back through that very portal to report to Asteria, likely to lure Odessa into their territory. The blood they spilled, it . . . activated the portal.”

  “Good Mother.” Haidee put her hand to her mouth, stunned. The elders said nothing, but sympathy was evident on their faces. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” Lan’s voice was still unusually blank. Wordlessly, I scooted closer, looped my arms around her waist. This was another guilt I hadn’t known was mine to bear until recently: that my mother’s single-mindedness had put Lan through so much, all because of me. I wished I could take away her pain, bear it for my own. “A sacrifice is required to open the portals each time. The galla are not very particular about who.”

  “And if Asteria opened a portal from Aranth to travel here,” Noelle added bleakly, “then she has no qualms about doing some sacrificing herself. We must be very careful, milady. Asteria has never been predictable, but I have never known her to be deliberately cruel until now.”

  “Then let’s talk about what we do know.” Haidee laid her journal at the center of the circle. She had written down every name, riddle, and observation from our time at Brighthenge. She had even sketched out a very crude layout of the temple, trying to remember every detail, no matter how small or trivial it had seemed then. “I’ve been looking through this, but I can’t determine what might be important. I hope you will help and find something I might have missed.”

  “There is no one alive among us who bore witness at the heart of the Breaking, or even to the sacrificial ritual that had been practiced for generations before, save for the older goddesses themselves.” Valaria, the Pronghorn clan mistress, leaned back, frowning. “Mother Salla was the only one within close proximity of the calamity, but even she was prevented from viewing the rites in person. It will be difficult to find the essentials in something of which we have so little knowledge.”

  “That is not true,” a voice said. Sonfei entered the tent, grunting as he found an empty place between Lan and me. The man’s eyes were slightly red, but he was almost back to his jovial self. “Like your Mother Salla, I was also present when the Breaking took place. Naturally, I too was banned from seeing the ritual myself, but I will do my best to tell you what I can be remembering.”

  “I will help,” Mother Salla said. “Perhaps another point of view will help refresh my mind.”

  “I remember you, now that I think about it. Your hair was longer then, and dark, like the blackest of nights. You looked very different.”

  “So I was.” Salla sounded surprised. “I do not resemble the woman I was then. I doubt anyone would recognize me, had I any contemporaries still living. I am sorry that I do not remember you.”

  He laughed. “You would not have known me then as I look today. I had hair and both eyes then. I was young and naive. I was a visiting noble from Liangzhu, there to pay my respects to the goddess on behalf of my king, only to discover that there were two of them. I . . .” He faltered, then soldiered on. “I fell in love with your Asteria during my visit. I believed she was not completely immune to my affections, but . . .” He bowed his head sadly. “I was mistaken, for she loved Aranth, a merchant’s son, though he had no titles or rank to his name. I was told that the rites
were conducted to restore Aeon’s beauty. But I did not know then that it would involve sacrifice. By the time I learned that Asteria was in peril, it was already too late. If I had known there were other ways . . . I’d like to believe that I would have done something. I know I would have.”

  “Was Aeon dying, even then?” I asked.

  “The people prospered and flourished, but at the height of their wealth they became too careless with nature’s bounties. They neglected the soil and the waters, contaminated them with their waste and their leavings. The rot would increase. Crops would begin to die. The ritual rejuvenated Aeon and cleansed the world once more, so we could prosper and flourish and repeat the process all over again. Most of us thought it was simply the natural way of things.”

  “We could have prevented this?” This was from Lisette. “There was another way to save Aeon without pissing off the goddesses? And all it required was not to live to excess?” She turned on Salla. “You were old enough to remember. You were one of the Devoted. Why didn’t you do anything?”

  “Because I,” the older woman said, “like most everyone else back then, never realized that the worst could happen, until it happened.”

  “They lied to us,” Ilenka muttered. “We trusted them with our lives, and they lied.”

  I only nodded. This explained the Devoted’s entitlement, the stories Haidee told of the excess within the Golden City. Old habits died hard. “Was there any truth to what Mother said about medicines to be found in Brighthenge?”

  Mother Salla frowned. “There was talk of a secret within the temple where one could achieve immortality—which always seemed odd to me, as not even Inanna was supposed to be eternal. Perhaps Asteria referred to those rumors.”

  “I should have known that it would take more than a simple ritual to heal Aeon,” Sonfei said. “I knew about those endless loops of prosperity and ruin. If I had been smarter then, perhaps I could have realized that there was something more sinister behind the rites, that it was too good to be true. . . .”

  Mother Salla patted his hand. “It is easy to believe we could have done better after hindsight. Let us do what we can now.”

  Together, Sonfei and Mother Salla went through Haidee’s notes and drawings while the other clan leaders discussed how best to make and distribute copies.

  “You have a good eye, Lady Haidee,” Sonfei said. “The sketch of Brighthenge—this is how I remember it. Asteria bade me to wait here.” He pointed at a spot inside the shrine just by the entrance.

  “And I waited here, with my colleagues among the Devoted.” Mother Salla’s finger rested in the middle of the temple, near the large plaque dedicated to Inanna that adorned most of one wall. “I was not permitted access to the inner chambers.”

  “And where are these inner chambers?” Lan asked.

  “Here.” Mother Salla’s finger moved again, tapping at the innermost wall farthest from the entryway. “Asteria, Namu, and Devika entered a small enclosure here. It leads into the heart of the chasm. Jesmyn and another Devoted from Namu’s sect followed them in.”

  I frowned, trying to remember. “I never saw that wall. There was too much debris. I didn’t think there was anything else behind it.”

  “It all happened so quickly.” Mother Salla closed her eyes. “I knew the instant the ritual failed. The mountain behind the shrine was split into two from the force of the patterns. A fissure formed on the ground, widening to become the Great Abyss. Had I been standing closer, I would have fallen—as many of my fellow Devoted did.” Pain streaked across her creased face. “But then there was a flash of bright light—and I found myself in the desert, alone.”

  “I remember much the same,” Sonfei said. “When the ground first cracked open, I rushed to the inner temple, wanting to rescue Asteria, but it had been caved in. So I ran outside, intending to circle to the back of the shrine—only to find myself staring into the yawning Abyss, which was growing by the second. I could do nothing but retreat. I thought she was already lost. There was no bright light for me. We fled the place on foot.”

  “Was Latona or my father there?” I asked intently.

  “Both,” Sonfei said, his face falling.

  “They dashed past us right after the ceremony began, into the inner chamber before we could stop them,” Mother Salla said. “The Breaking happened a few minutes after that.”

  I looked up to ask another question, and froze.

  The tent disappeared. Everyone around me was gone.

  I was back at the Great Abyss, staring wordlessly as an army of galla, twice as many as the last one we fought, filled the landscape from horizon to horizon. They were streaming out of the chasm, scuttling out into the wildlands. They were coming for us, I thought, panicking, even as the Inanna-demoness, reconstituted and showing no signs of the damage we had wrought upon it the day before, lifted its head out from the Abyss and looked at me—

  Lan caught me before I collapsed. “Odessa?” She paused in astonishment when I began to cry.

  “Another glimpse of the future,” I choked, my vision still fresh. “They’re coming. They’ll come tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.”

  They would come for her, and they would come for us, I knew that now. Every day of the rest of our lives they would come, until we were dead, or until Aeon was destroyed—or until I gave Lan up.

  And I was never giving Lan up.

  I thought I had no tears left to give today, but the tears came all the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  Haidee and the Ages of Aeon

  “YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS,” LAN GROWLED. We were all in the hut assigned to Odessa; away from prying eyes, my twin tended to be a lot more expressive, more demanding about what she wanted than when we had a larger audience. Lan had refused a place of her own and slept outside Odessa’s hut instead, despite Odessa’s growing unsubtle attempts to woo her inside.

  Odessa placed her hands on her hips and tried to look intimidating. “I’m being cautious. If there’s any chance that the demoness can re-form and return here it would be best to keep an eye on you. If galla are going to attack just as I fear, I’m at least going to make sure that you’re safe.”

  “I can take care of myself!”

  “Really? Against a fifty-foot shadow? One that took two whole armies to bring down the last time?”

  The Catseye glared. My sister glared right back.

  “All right,” Lan allowed, leaning back. “But I don’t need bodyguards looking after me. In case you’d forgotten, I’m the bodyguard. What are you smiling about?”

  It was good to see a grin on Odessa’s face; I knew the last few days had been particularly exhausting for her, and her latest vision hadn’t helped any of our nerves, least of all hers. “Now do you see why I always balked at being kept inside the Spire?”

  Lan sighed, long and loudly, then raised her voice. “I’m not going anywhere. I will allow a total of two”—she paused to glare past the entrance of the hut to where several clan members were waiting to guard her—“people to keep watch by my side, and that’s going to be Noelle and Arjun. Put the rest to better use around camp.”

  The men and women standing outside heard her. They paused, looking uncertainly at each other, and then back at Arjun for confirmation.

  “Arjun has other duties,” Odessa pointed out.

  “I don’t mind,” he said easily. It was his turn to receive a glare from my sister, which he ignored. “You can all leave for now,” he called out to the others. “Tell Kadmos to relieve the patrols every three hours instead of four. We’ll need everyone well rested once Their Holinesses decide what to do next.”

  “Arjun!” But the men were already retreating, obeying his instructions. The scowl on Odessa’s face grew more pronounced, along with the smile on Lan’s. “Thanks, Arjun,” the Catseye said.

  “I’d balk too, if I were in your place. And if you’d been in mine, you would’ve gotten me out too, right?”

  “In a heartb
eat.”

  The two lummoxes grinned at each other. I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re crankier than normal,” Odessa complained. “What were you doing with the other Liangzhu last night?”

  “Nothing.” A pause. “They drank,” Lan admitted. “I had a little too, to pacify them. Even in the sunlands, they’ve managed to find a way to distill alcohol.”

  “The sunlands sounds a lot more romantic than things actually are,” I murmured.

  “Alcohol, you say?” Arjun looked amused.

  “Strong enough to punch through a devil whale. Good, though.”

  “I meant what I said,” Odessa swore. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Of course,” Lan said, oddly compliant.

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Are you patronizing me?”

  “Never.” Lan bent forward and kissed her. Odessa let out a muffled squeak, but showed no signs of pushing her away or breaking it off.

  “I think we should leave them alone,” Arjun suggested. There was a decidedly hungry edge to their kiss, like it had been simmering for days and was just about ready to bubble over.

  “We’re going,” I said, like either were even listening, and Arjun and I snuck out as quietly as we could.

  The clan soldiers were still milling about outside, probably waiting for Arjun to change his mind. I looked at them, and felt a flash of anger at Lan’s situation. It wasn’t fair that she had to fear for her life like this. It wasn’t fair for us, either. Why did we have to deal with something we’d had no part in? I didn’t want to have to clean up Mother’s messes. Odessa shouldn’t have to deal with her mother’s, either. And yet, here we were.

  But even as I asked the question I knew what the answer was. We were the last line of defense. If we failed, the whole world was doomed.