by Rin Chupeco
One of their rare Firesmokers was feeding short tendrils of fire directly into that horrifying mouth, which seemed to help calm it down. As it lapped up the flames, a woman was already by it, making short incisions in its side while others hurried forward to fill barrels and buckets with water.
“Never seen a deathworm move that fast!” Sonfei chortled, as I somersaulted over the railing and landed with a heavy oof on the ground. “They must like your blue fires very much, my lad. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure we were going to make it!”
“That’s fine,” I mumbled into the sand.
Still chuckling, the Liangzhu man helped me stand. “We’ll push the deathworm back into the Sand Sea once we’re done, and it’ll be off on its merry way without much fuss. It’s a shame you’re not planning on staying—you’d make our milking faster this way. But I’m as good as my word. We’ll bring you to the woods at the edge of our territory and give you supplies besides, since you’ve lost most of yours to the sea.”
“How kind of you,” I said weakly, watching as the first of the barrels was filled with the surprisingly clear water. The deathworm inclined its head, it seemed, in my direction, gave a small grunt, and returned to greedily consuming more fire.
One of the women approached with a bowl of water in her hands. “It’s clean,” she told me, not unkindly, and demonstrated when her patterns of Earth combed through the bowl and found no dirt or mud to squeeze out.
I took a small sip. It might have been the thirst I’d worked up after the horrible ride, but it was cool and delicious, much better than what we could usually get from the retreating sea back east, and it tasted good going down my throat.
Sonfei sat beside me with his own bowl, and we watched the Liangzhu fill the rest of their containers with the lifesaving liquid.
“As positively enjoyable as it was driving for our lives through the Sand Sea while a deathworm the size of a small army chased after me,” I began, voice still scratchy, “we’re still getting more out of this deal than you are. You’re letting Haidee have a crack at a book you’ve been hoarding for years, you’re giving us supplies, and you’re taking us closer to the Breaking, away from your own territory and into danger. Why so generous?”
Sonfei lifted his bowl and drank noisily, the knob in his throat bobbing up and down. Then he smacked his lips noisily and wiped at his mouth.
“You be right and wrong,” he said. “This is not a place for kindness, this new Aeon. To be kind means to give up resources that could mean your life or your death, and I like life a little too much still. But I understand the importance of your enterprise, and what that might mean if you are successful. I remember the world back when it was soft and good, where I could watch the sun set before stars graced the sky with their shine. Do you know what I would give to see a sunset again, lad?
“I was there when everything died. Have you ever seen a goddess disappear into eternity in a flash of light? Watched her be sucked into a mountain? To see your dreams crumble and die along with her? Ah, Asteria. She was not always a good woman, but I was not always a good man, either. Neither was I the smartest of men, and that was perhaps why I could never get her interest for long. I am not intelligent enough to understand much of what happened at the Breaking, boy, just that the world broke. I kept the book solely because it was hers.”
He sighed. “What your little goddess says gives me hope. If they can destroy the world, then perhaps they have the secrets to patching it back together.”
“You’ve only just met us,” I grumbled.
“I already see some similarities between us, boy. Not so long ago, I was that same besotted fool with hearts in my eyes, following Asteria around and hoping I could save her from the evils to come.”
“I am not a besotted—”
“You come from the desert. You have that hard, lean look that tells me cities hold no meaning in your blood. And the nomads have long resented the goddesses for sending us the eternal sun. So tell me—why follow her? There is nothing about her you find compelling? Or attractive? Was her conviction that she alone can save the world enough to convince you, or are you more afraid that she would not survive alone, even if her dreams are false?”
I opened my mouth. I shut it again.
That was what I couldn’t tell Haidee earlier. How the mirage had leaned down with its ratty cloak and its robe with that damn silver brooch pinned to its lifeless chest, how underneath that hood its headless neck bored holes through me with its not-eyes. It had taken me a while to understand that it had used up the last of its energies to haul me out of the depths of the Sand Sea to keep me breathing.
The Liangzhu’s book, it had whispered, and then also You will die for her one day, and I couldn’t even muster up the right kind of anger for its presumption, because it had sounded so damned sad in the process, and you will do so willingly. And then it disappeared, the cloak and the corpse gone like it had never happened.
I wanted to live just as much as Sonfei did. But.
“I know the signs, boy. I thought it best to give you warning. I wish someone had done the same for me, back in the day.” And then he grinned and slapped me hard on the back. “And the milking was good bonding for us, eh? Certainly, where would my manners be if I didn’t introduce you to what the Liangzhu consider a fun time?”
“Where’ve you been?” Haidee asked, barely looking up from the book as I trudged back in. She was looking slightly pale, her voice strangely wooden.
“Glad to see you too,” I grumbled, resisting the urge to crawl under a blanket and wait for the world to stop spinning.
Haidee peered curiously up at me. “Are you okay? You’ve got sand in your hair.”
“I always have damned sand in my hair.”
“Are we good with Sonfei?”
“I’ve satisfied the minimum requirements for his help, yeah.” I flopped down beside her. Whatever was in that book, it had better be worth the deathworm-milking I’d had to go through. Haidee looked flustered, though, and I frowned. “Something wrong?”
“There were always two goddesses born in every generation after Inanna,” she whispered. “Twins. I never knew that. Every history book I’ve read only ever talked about one goddess ruling in every generation. And now it’s saying that Mother having a sister wasn’t unusual—that it was the norm. That meant the sister mentioned in my father’s letter—she was my twin. And—” She paused, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Soon after their birth, the goddesses are kept away from each other, to be raised separately. In their seventeenth year, they then go through a Brighthenge ritual.”
“What ritual?”
“It doesn’t give any details, only that it’s the custom. Next, it says one of the goddesses would be ‘chosen.’ Again, it doesn’t explain how, but it does say what happens after.” Her voice shook. “Oh, Arjun. It’s terrible. Part of the ritual involves killing one of the twins.”
“What?”
“I think that, politically speaking, separate factions could rise around each twin and cause unrest. But this is more than just keeping them from squabbling over who gets to rule. The chosen twin will be received by seven galla—demons—with seven radiances as gifts, but with consequences for every one. One radiance, for example, could grant the ability to control plants and make things grow, ensuring bountiful harvests for all. But in exchange, it would corrupt the soil, preventing anything from growing there ever again. How well do you know the legends surrounding Inanna?”
“Like I said before, just the standard mythology.”
“Twin goddesses reflect Inanna’s dual nature, according to Sonfei’s book. That’s what the ritual is about. The legend of Inanna isn’t complete if both her dual natures remain aboveground, here in Aeon. Half her soul has to enter this—this Cruel Kingdom, while the other half remains behind to rule.”
“You mean the ritual is about killing one of the twins—thus fulfilling the whole ‘go down to the underworld’ part—while the other twin
is kept alive? And when she has twins of her own, they have to go through the process all over again?”
“Was it me?” Haidee’s voice was so small. “My aunt Asteria and my twin sister are both dead. That would have satisfied the requirements, right? But the Breaking happened anyway. Was it because the wrong goddess was chosen? Was my mother the one supposed to be sacrificed? I’ve always thought Mother selfish for the decisions she made for the city. But what if—what if she tried to save either my sister or me, and that’s what caused the Breaking? Am I even supposed to be alive?”
“Stop thinking about that,” I said sharply. “You don’t know what happened.”
“Remember the letter my father left Mother? He said they would kill her instead of my aunt Asteria. Was that what happened? I can’t blame Mother for not wanting to die. I can’t blame her if she tried to save me. Save us. But if she was to die, then that means we were responsible for the Breaking. Not Asteria.”
“Stop!” I commanded, lifting her chin up to face me. She was trying to rein in her tears, but they were spilling out of the corners of her wonderful eyes all the same.
“Look,” I began again, moderating my voice. “Remember all the things you’ve been annoying me with on the way here? About how it’s not fair for me to hate you, because you weren’t even a year old when everything went to hell and back, so it didn’t seem right that people were blaming you for things you had no control over?”
“I wasn’t annoying you,” she whispered.
“Agree to disagree. Well, I’m throwing those words back in your face. It’s not your fault. We’re going to Brighthenge, and we’ll figure things out once we get there. And if there’s nothing to be done?” I shrugged. “Then we lose nothing. I’m sure Sonfei won’t mind letting us hitch a ride across the sea.”
I’d made my choice, hadn’t I?
She smiled at me, her stupid little face so wonderfully bright and lovely. “Thank you,” she whispered, and scooted closer to give me another long, tight hug, because apparently we were doing more of this now. I let her. “I just wish I could see Mother right now. I don’t think we ever really understood each other. There’s so much I want to talk to her about, especially now that I know . . .” She sighed. “You must really think I’m an idiot.”
Yeah, I thought, but I guess I’m attracted to idiocy now.
Chapter Nineteen
Odessa the Gatebringer
I’D BEEN HAVING THE STRANGEST dreams.
I kept seeing two mountains in them, though there was something odd about their shapes that sent me bolting out of sleep, something so disturbing and unnatural that I had to force myself awake. Sometimes I dreamt of the Great Abyss spread before me, knowing that I must look down into its depths to find the answers I sought, but there too, I would come awake before I could finish the attempt. One night found me clinging to the hand of yet another corpse, another member of our team I would be unable to save, though I woke before I could take a good look at their face.
Other nights I had only dim recollections of something writhing and wriggling in the darkness, but it was nothing I could give any form or shape to, and when I woke, that vague unease lingered even as we resumed our journey. Like every bush and rock had eyes watching my back.
Maybe they did. I don’t know. I would much rather keep awake.
I took out my anxieties on Graham. With Cathei’s ghost I was polite, wanting to give her freer rein despite her condition. With the Seasinger I showed no such concern.
“Odessa,” Lan murmured, face pale, as the third nightspan we spent in the wildlands drew to a close. This was not the first time she’d made this appeal. “Please stop.”
I surveyed Graham’s bloodied form before me. I was pleased to learn that even in this aspect, the man could still bleed. That he exhibited no signs of pain or agony took some of the fun out of it.
“Stop what?” I asked, and delivered a quick flash of ice straight to his gullet, and left it sticking out. “Not all the girls were willing to provide testimony, but I’ve heard enough. You heard it too, Lan. Tell me why this should be spared.” I was disgusted—at Gracea, at the other Devoted’s willingness to look away. Had Mother known about his cruelty and ignored it, too? Unlike some of the other Devoted, Graham had always seemed polite to everyone, including the clerks. That deception infuriated me.
“This will do nothing but incite Gracea’s ire further. I don’t think you want her as an enemy so far from Aranth.”
“I disagree. She would become even more impertinent in Aranth, with Mother’s support.” The Starmaker was quiet; I knew her unexpected docility was a disguise for some new scheme.
The Devoted were all against me. They’d kept that disgusting man within their ranks. Even now they still defended Gracea.
They were all plotting against me. I couldn’t sleep, knowing they would stab me in the heart, if not for my loyal crew standing guard. I had to be vigilant.
I was tempted—so tempted—to have it out with the Starmaker once and for all. But dealing with her alone was one thing—while those who loved me were greater in number, all unflinchingly loyal as they should be, it was Gracea’s Devoted who possessed most of the gates.
I had to be cautious. Always cautious; biding, waiting for a better time to strike.
I had separated Janella from the others in case Gracea and her ilk planned to retaliate, bade her stay beside me most days. She was silent but obviously grateful, and the other gateless looked at her with something nearing reverence, for her bravery. Only Janella could be trusted now. And Lan.
My Catseye sighed, retreated to confer with Noelle. Lan had been spending more time with her these last few days. Was my steward plotting with the Devoted, too? Were they seeking to corrupt Lan against me?
I’d kill them all if they did.
We had finally reached the borders of the Spirit Lands, but Lan had been delaying our entry. I suspected that she was still uneasy, that her previous trauma was one of the causes for her hesitation, though it warmed my heart when I learned she had approached Catseye Sumiko that night at the Lunar Lakes, after I had shown the world that dying didn’t mean Graham could escape his due punishment.
Still, the changes in the wildlands grew more remarkable as time wore on. The sky was several shades lighter, enough that I could make out a scattering of twinkling lights above us, the stars finally making their appearance. And if I squinted far enough into the horizon, I could even catch a glimpse of a steadier, more permanent light beckoning to us farther east—proof we were drawing closer to our goal.
Cathei still followed stealthily after us. She wasn’t dead; she simply existed in some space allotted between the living and the dead, and if I could do that much for her, then perhaps I could find out how to truly bring her back to life before our journey’s end.
I couldn’t explain my confidence. I only knew that it was possible, clung to the idea because if I could perform so many other new wonders, why not that as well? Old Odessa would never have dared to presume, but I liked the feel of new Odessa better, her skin a more comfortable fit against me.
I had received a fifth gift from the galla in that lake, but I didn’t realize what it was, or to what extent those abilities would go, until that third night.
It had started softly, with small trickles of floating light; I assumed they were Gracea’s. But soon I realized that only I could see them, saw them drifting around certain people in the group rather than expanding their reach into the night the way the Starmaker preferred.
They settled first on Janella, dancing around her hair like she wore rushlights on her dark locks, the brightness taking on a reddish hue. Then I saw more emerging around Bergen, his dark skin a stark contrast to those fluttering green glows. Tiny flares started behind Jeenia, a blushing pink this time, and took further shape around Slyp, winding around his patchy skin like a rope. None of them took notice of this strange phenomenon. Instinct told me this was not a threat, but something much more profound.<
br />
“Stop.”
“Odessa?” Lan trotted quickly over to me, her beautiful face worried.
“Can’t you see them? The lights?”
Blank faces stared back at me, some wary. I had to stay on my guard. They could so easily turn this against me, proclaim me unstable, especially after the scylla and Graham.
“Lan, I see patterns here, behaving erratically.”
“Erratically?”
“Around Slyp. And Jeenia, Aleron, Tracei, Janella, Lorila.”
Slyp gulped. “Is someone targeting us?”
“No.” The patterns ebbed green and red instead of the whites and blues I was used to seeing, abundant here where they’d always been scarce before. “Aranth mostly has Stormbringers, Seasingers, Windshifters, and Icewrights—people who possess water- and air-gates.”
Well, there were exceptions. Powerful Firesmokers could generate their own flames, and Starmakers and Mudforgers could draw plentiful Air or Water patterns through their gates instead of Fire or Earth. Those were rare, though.
“But we’re not in Aranth anymore, are we?” I mused. “The weather here is more temperate. There are no harsh winds or constant storms, but the reason we haven’t made this our home is that the constant monsoons and the occasional kraken were a better trade-off than the monsters that grow in abundance here. Without the ice and storms constantly sapping both Earth and Fire patterns, they have the chance to flourish here.”
“You’re right,” Lan said, surprised. “I never thought about that. People with recessive gates could channel them here, couldn’t they? But most people wouldn’t be able to now, not if they’ve gone for years without ever using a gate.”
“Unless—unless I can somehow jump-start their abilities?”