The Never Tilting World

by Rin Chupeco

  “What’s wrong?” Arjun asked.

  I couldn’t place it into words, but something about the statue made me uneasy. I turned away. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  By some unspoken agreement, we made for the broken temple instead. It looked sound enough to enter, though I was understandably reluctant—just because something had survived seventeen years in ruins didn’t mean it was going to survive another day more, given my luck. “Don’t touch anything,” I warned Haidee, “and I’m going in first.”

  She glared at me. “This is my shrine.”

  “A shrine you’ve never even set foot in.”

  She didn’t have a good answer, so she rewarded me with yet another glare.

  Brighthenge’s architecture was straightforward enough; it was a long hallway marked by statues on either sides, leading into a large altar on a circular disc. The roof above it opened up into the heavens, though the impression was marred by unplanned holes in other parts of the ceiling. It was a testament to the temple’s builders that many of the pillars remained upright. Clouds of dust rose up wherever we walked; we must have been the first living things to enter these once-sacred halls since the Breaking.

  At first glance, it didn’t look like there was anything that could be saved. What I could only surmise were priceless vases littered the ground, broken and forgotten and covered in thick layers of dust. Intricate tapestries had been torn off the walls by some unimaginable force, many ripped to shreds. Haidee crouched down beside one that had remained mostly intact, studying it carefully. “It portrays Inanna’s descent into the underworld, I think,” she said sadly. “How many more priceless artifacts had been destroyed here?”

  “Well, there’s a few things here stronger than vases and tapestries.” I studied the plaques chiseled into the stone walls, bearing strange text.

  Haidee drew in a quick breath. “There are names inscribed before every tablet.”

  She was right. Many of the names had been rubbed out and distorted, but a few of them were still distinct: Alathea. Camrin. Sovvya. Nyx.

  “These are the names of the goddesses that came before me,” Haidee whispered. “Look, here’s Mother’s name—Latona—and beside hers is Asteria. Every plaque bears the names of both twins, but talk only about the surviving sister. This one is Sovvya—her achievements are well documented here, but there’s nothing else regarding her twin, Salaka, beyond her name. The same goes for the rest: Alathea and a twin named Argenta. And Camrin and Perth, Phoebe and Thalia, and so on. None of the books I’ve read ever mentioned their sisters’ names—no, wait. Nyx and Hemera. When Nyx wrote about raising a bird back from the dead, she named it Hemera. Her twin’s name.”

  “They’re really pushing that ‘only one goddess existed’ lie, aren’t they?” I broke my own rule and brushed away some dirt with the base of my hand so I could read some of the words better. “None of these make any sense to me. Listen to this one: ‘Where the waters recede will the city flourish, and when the dead open their eyes and sing with their throats shall the harvest continue.’” I turned and saw the look of growing horror on Haidee’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “That was from Nyx’s time,” Haidee whispered. “There was a terrible flood that wiped out many villages and cities. The drowned made—gurgling—noises in their mouths even after they’d perished, once their bodies were recovered from the water. It was well documented by historians.”

  “Well, why not just say that instead of sounding so mysterious?”

  “These aren’t historical documents, Arjun. They’re prophecies. Predictions of what each goddess might do in their lifetimes. Every goddess has some prophecy in her name. So what went wrong?”

  “Haidee—”

  But she was already dashing off, her eyes locking on every plaque on the walls she passed, stopping every now and then to skim through a few passages. “We’re starting on the wrong end,” she breathed. “What I need to find isn’t any of the other goddesses’ prophecies, but Inanna’s.”

  “Inanna has her own prophecies?”

  “She has to. She’s the greatest goddess of us all. Oh . . .” She ran toward the altar, ignoring the debris in her path. I swore and followed after her.

  She skidded to a stop and stared at the wall behind the altar, at a set of two plaques more impressive than the others, carved side by side. I could dimly make out the faint image of a woman stooping behind them both, her sculpted hands lying atop them as if offering both her benediction.

  “It says Inanna’s Song,” Haidee whispered. “These must be the incantations that were used for the ritual.”

  Time had rubbed out some of the lettering, but most of the strange ode remained intact:

  A demoness

  Is what men call

  A goddess they cannot control.

  There is no shame

  In goddesses falling

  Into the Abyss

  Where they find new purpose

  As darkness.

  Praise the women who fly

  And fail and succumb to

  Night;

  Death sustains Inanna,

  Who is One and Whole,

  Who sacrifices her life into the Below

  To save her life in the Above

  Who is the sacrificed and the sacrificer,

  The demoness and the goddess

  Rule the heavens

  And the Cruel Kingdom

  As two, but One.

  As the enduring Above,

  So shall the Great Below.

  “That makes even less sense,” I complained.

  “Inanna enters hell to rescue her beloved from the Cruel Kingdom, only to find that this is an impossible feat, even for her,” Haidee breathed. “The twin goddesses are considered part of her dual nature. But if one is destined to rule the Above—here, in this world—then the other, doomed to rule the Great Below, must be the twin to be sacrificed.” She was pale now, shaking.

  “Haidee—”

  “Who tells us these prophecies?” she yelled at the altar, at the plaques, at the faint suggestion of the goddess behind them all. Bits of plaster and stone crumbled down from the ceiling, but she gave them no notice. “What priestess wrote them down? How does she predict these destinies, foretell who is to die and who is to live? Does she claim they come from the mouth of Inanna herself? I want to know!” She whirled around, her panicked eyes searching the rest of the walls. “They say the prophecies are created when the next generation of twins are born,” she croaked. “Where are my prophecies, then? And my twin’s? Who foretold our futures? Which of us is to die, and who gets to live?”

  I couldn’t stop her. She tore through the hallways like a madwoman, flitting from one written destiny to the next, trying to ascertain her own. Finally, she fell to her knees before one of the walls that had partly given way to rot and erosion, sobbing. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  The world torn asunder, I read silently from the plaque she had stopped at,

  Night and day rule from their two thrones,

  Where the darkest hour and the brightest light meet

  the Hellmouth shall be crossed

  by she strengthened under the gift of day,

  by she liberated with the gift of night.

  And the world is whole again.

  But the Cruel Kingdom hungers for a sacrifice.

  Sacrifice overthrows chaos.

  Sacrifice is necessary

  for what was two to become one.

  Test your worth; offer

  to her, Inanna’s immortality.

  She will grieve endlessly for the sister

  who slumbers in the house of the dead,

  but her tears will save us all.

  And until the Gates of Death and Life intertwine,

  Love continues to be the toll.

  And she will pay.

  She will pay.

  But the upper parts of the plaque had not survived, leaving gaping holes in their wake.

  “Is
it my name that’s written there?” Haidee wept. “Or is it my sister’s? Will I be the one sacrificed?”

  “Haidee!” Feeling helpless, not sure how to comfort her, I hugged her tightly, burying my face in her hair. “Haidee, you’re the only surviving twin, remember? Your sister is dead.”

  “I know,” she breathed. “Did they sacrifice her by mistake? Oh, sweet Mother. I had a sister. Did she die so I could live? I could have had a sister! My sister! Did they kill my father as well? Oh, Arjun—would all this never have happened if it had been me? Am I living the life my sister should have? Poor Odessa . . .”

  A loud crack sounded from outside the temple. We both jumped.

  A long, sonorous howling rippled through the air and sent fear down my bones.

  Haidee pushed me gently away, now almost inhumanly calm, and stood.

  “Haidee, you’re not seriously considering—”

  She pointed. Through the openings in the wall I could make out the beginnings of some hideous maelstrom, whipping through the sky and sending frenzied froths of lightning-kissed air spinning forth from the edges of the Abyss. This was bad.

  “You’ve said it yourself,” Haidee said. “We’ve come this far. If there’s something out there that’s taking umbrage at my being here, then I’m going to see what it wants from me.”

  This woman had nerves of steel.

  Damn if I didn’t love her.

  “Let’s see what it wants, then,” I said, bracing myself for whatever the hell was waiting for us outside, and together, we stepped back out into the light.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Twins at the Abyss

  IT WAS STRANGE TO BE in the middle of this foul fog, with the stench of brimstone and burning wood surrounding me on all sides, and yet to be so calm.

  I could hear my faithful followers struggling behind me, coughing and trying to keep pace, but I ignored them and forged on ahead, not wanting to wait. They were staunch companions and, I was sure, willing to risk their lives for my cause, but this was something I had to do on my own, and their help, earnest as it was, amounted to little in this place.

  The Abyss gaped before me, yawning open like the jaws of some toothless beast that sputtered fire and damnation back into the sky in defiance of nature. I knew that I should be frightened. Every horrible creature we’d encountered had been spawned from these depths, and the blame for every death we’d suffered could be laid on their account. But I was strangely at peace. However this might end, at least there would be an ending.

  The galla that accompanied me didn’t bother to keep their distance; they fanned out behind me, acting as my guards, and it felt right.

  I could no longer hear my companions.

  I stopped at the edge of the Abyss and waited. Nothing crawled out from those bottomless depths, or moved to attack. I felt the wind pick up, as if some unseen spell ran through the air. It crackled at my skin, charging the air with terrific energy. But I remained still, waiting. I had, after all, one more galla to greet, to complete the ritual.

  And when it finally arrived, it was a tiny, unimpressive thing, nothing at all like its brethren. It had the features and size of a small child, squat and slightly deformed and no taller than my waist. It tottered toward me with its not-legs, its eyes like bright sapphires. It extended a hand, its not-fist clenched.

  One more gift to take for my own, and I could face anything that sloped out of that chasm to challenge me.

  The little waiflike creature stared at me without eyes and showed me what it wanted.

  Its fist unfurled.

  It was a small, beating heart.

  No.

  Not just any heart.

  I knew without knowing how.

  It required the heart of one whom I loved best.

  The world shuddered and stopped.

  Lan’s heart.

  No. Anything but that.

  “You can’t,” I snarled, anger and fear spiking together into one emotion. “Take anything you want from me. Whatever I can give you, I will give freely. But not that. Anything but that . . .”

  You must not open your mouth against the rites of the underworld.

  “Yes, I will!” I screamed. “I defy you now! I’ll give you everything you want but Lan! I forbid it! I refuse your gift!”

  Something in the galla twisted in on itself. Submit.

  I raised my hand, but it was neither in acceptance nor surrender.

  Ice tore into the galla, picking it apart like a beast might tear into its helpless prey. I strengthened my will and sent Air to shatter it into a million pieces, Fire to burn the remains of its corpse down to its bitter ashes. I attacked the ground it stood on, desperate to eradicate every iota of its being from this world. You will not have her. You will not have her. You will not have her!

  “Odessa!”

  And then Lan was there. I sobbed, clinging to her, desperate for her touch and sorry for everything I had done to us. “It’s my fault,” I warbled. To refuse one gift was to reject them all, and the wave of lucidity that sang through me as I reclaimed my sanity hit me like a punch, the guilt too great to ignore. “It’s all my fault!”

  “Shh,” the Catseye soothed, stroking my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay, Odessa.”

  “No, it won’t.” What had I done? I had taken most of the Devoted prisoner, elevated my inexperienced followers into positions they were not ready for because of my pride, brought them into this fog of death with no thought of their safety. . . . “Lan, we must get away from this place. We have to return to Aranth now, find some other way to restore the world. I can’t do it, not like this. I’m not going to lose you.”

  “Sweet child,” Lan murmured. “You’ve already lost me.”

  I pushed her away, shocked. The thing before me wore Lan’s face, her smile. Until the shadows behind her lengthened, and she was no longer Lan.

  I screamed.

  It was the scream that terrified me, because it sounded so human. I’d thrown all caution to the winds and raced toward the Abyss with Arjun hot on my heels, shouting words at me that didn’t quite reach. “Hello?” I called out into the mist, hoping to receive a response and at the same time hoping I wouldn’t.

  “You damn idiot!” Arjun shouted, finally catching up. “Whatever possessed you to run into this accursed fog without thinking through—”

  “There’s someone else here.” That cry had triggered something in me, had made my chest hurt with the terror in it.

  “It could be some kind of ruse—”

  “No. It didn’t come from the chasm.” I peered desperately into the fog, trying to find anything that would back up my claim. Gating Air, I tried to funnel the current into a straight line, pushing what mist that I could out of the way. It was like struggling with quicksand, a dense soup that was quick to flow back into the empty spaces I had carved out.

  Arjun scanned the area I had cleared. “I think I see something,” he murmured, frowning. “There’s a girl.”

  Then his eyes widened, and he glanced at me, and then back out at the fog, and then back again.

  “What?”

  “Either that’s a mirage, or it’s another you I’m seeing out there.”

  “What?” I squinted into the mist, trying to make sense of the faint figure I could see from a distance, fading in and out of view as the fog fought to obscure the pathway I had worked so hard to clear.

  I saw a glimpse of hair, the colors standing out against the faint light. I watched the way it shifted from brown to blue and then yellow. “That’s my hair,” I choked out, disbelieving. But while mine was short, hers was long, nearly past her waist.

  The girl herself was cowering on the ground, hands raised to protect her head. Looming over her was some strange beast, a hulking figure that stood on two legs. But any similarities to humanity ended there; dark fangs stood out against what must be its mouth, and one of its clawed hands was raised, as if to attack.

  I didn’t even think. I sent an a
rc of lightning spinning across the chasm, striking the creature’s chest dead center. It hollered and stumbled back, but Arjun was already kneeling beside me with his Howler out and one of its sights against his eye. He squeezed the trigger, and a blazing blue light shot across the Great Abyss that stood between us and the girl, and enveloped the monster in flames.

  The other girl stumbled back, gasping, and the monster teetered precariously over the edge. I gated more Air, wrapped it like a lasso around the beast’s midsection, and gave a hard tug. It toppled over, its animal-like screams fading soon enough as it dropped deeper into that endless Abyss.

  “Odessa!” I heard distantly, as two more girls appeared out of the fog, dashing toward the other stricken girl—one with black hair, and the other a redhead. The dark-haired girl’s lips moved, and my doppelgänger let out a huge sob, enveloping her in a tight hug.

  “What happened?” The brunette’s words drifted out to us from across the divide, the silence amplifying her voice. Her long hair was knotted in braids much like the Liangzhu women I’d seen at Sonfei’s camp. Her mouth fell open. “Who are you?” she roared from across the crevice. “Answer me, demons!”

  Of course, it was Arjun who took offense. “Watch who you’re calling demons, demon!” he yelled back. “And stop wearing Haidee’s face!”

  “Haidee’s face?” came the angry response. “She’s wearing Odessa’s face!”

  “Odessa?” I rose, hurried as close to the edge of the Abyss as I dared. “Your name is Odessa?” I shouted.

  The other woman with the same color-shifting hair as mine copied my movements, scrambling nearer to the precipice. “Yes,” she called out, her voice shaking. “Who are you?”

  I stared at her, and she stared back. She has my face, I thought, stunned. She looks almost exactly like me. “My name’s Haidee.”

  A harsh, garbled noise rose between us, from somewhere within the depths of the ravine. My gaze drifted below.

  Until that point, I had refused to look straight into the Abyss, out of fear at what I might find. But now I couldn’t look away. As I watched, horrified, a strange frothing mass rose from that endless hole, its spindly, shrunken movements too cracked and twisted to be of any sane shape.