by Lauren Roy
Siwa broke first.
She scuttled away from Ember, around the edge of the hall and down the ramp to the Seaglass. She stepped over Vedra as though her sister were a large dog sprawled out across a threshold, and reached for Mother Sun’s collar. Mother Sun bent, and though it must have been an unfathomable relief to her to have it removed, it seemed she was granting Siwa a boon, letting her touch her divine self.
Siwa freed the others, too—the prone girl, the young ones—and when she was done, she fell to her knees and pressed her nose to the blue surface of the Seaglass, begging for her life.
Nasreen didn’t wait for Mother Sun to straighten up. The pale-haired witch burst into that flock of starlings and took wing. Ember and Char turned as one, their eyes seeking out the dark fleeing shapes. Across the sky, birds burned, their carcasses plummeting to the ground. A handful escaped, but Yulla couldn’t imagine Nasreen being able to put herself back together now.
By the time Char looked back at the remaining witch-women, Amara had rolled up onto her hands and knees, retching. Vedra lay on the Seaglass, flat on her back. Her hands were laced atop her stomach, her lips moving as though in prayer.
I should do it again, Yulla thought. So they can’t cast any more spells. That was how it always went in the stories: you thought the villain was vanquished, and then he got up and had another go at the hero. She wasn’t willing to take that risk, but when she tightened her fist again, she hesitated.
Do it, she willed herself. DO IT. But the idea nauseated her.
“Best give those to me, now, don’t you think?” asked a silver voice beside her. The same silver voice. She felt the leashes plucked from her hands, and the woman said, “Why don’t you look upon me with your own eyes?”
Cool hands touched Yulla’s face. Gentle fingers fluttered against her eyelids. Char’s vision disappeared, this time for good. The reversed eclipse drifted across the dark again, shrinking to a pinpoint as the grainy, too-big feeling her eyes had had since Vedra had blinded her ebbed away.
“Open them,” said the woman, and Yulla did.
IN HER DREAMS, or when Abba told them stories about the gods, she’d pictured a woman like Mother Sun, only all silver; or the pale white-grey of the full moon; a woman with silver eyes to match her silver dress. Sometimes she imagined her with a thin band of metal as a crown, or a scepter carved from ivory. The woman before her looked nothing like that: she was Kell’s height, but thicker at the middle. She had the same olive skin as anyone else here, and thick black hair that fell halfway down her back. She wore simple clothing—a tunic and loose pants, sandals with leather straps. The most ornate thing about her was the braided silver ring she wore on her left hand, and the milky blue stone set within.
Plain as the woman was, as like them as she was, Yulla knew she stood in the presence of Sister Moon.
“You’re safe,” the goddess called to the crowd. “It’s over now.” She looked at the bodies lining the edge of the crowd, and her mouth bent with sorrow. “Come get your dead,” she said, softly.
Taking Yulla and Kell by the shoulders, she steered the girls into the versam hall, where Mother Sun towered over Vedra, Amara, and Siwa. Ember and Char were with their siblings, checking them over for injury. They’d moved their brother’s body off of the Seaglass and laid him out on one of the benches. The middle girl sat with his head cradled in her lap, stroking his cold cheek. She looked up as Yulla and Kell passed by, and mouthed a silent thank you.
“Wait,” said Yulla, wincing inwardly at her own audacity. Halting Sister Moon? Demanding something of one of the Fire Children? But she had to know something. “The leashes. How did you know I’d need them?”
“I told you. It was a feeling.” She shifted uncomfortably and gave Sister Moon an appealing glance. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“She’s more like me than her mother sometimes,” the goddess said. “I’ve been teaching her to see.”
They each looked at Yulla as though that should explain everything. In a way, it did. If Sister Moon could send visions and dreams, why not be able to pass that knowledge along? “I’m sorry. About your brother.”
The girl nodded, and Yulla was glad when Sister Moon nudged her and Kell along.
“YOU SHOULD DIE for what you’ve done,” Mother Sun said to the witches. Siwa sobbed, spewing out apologies, crabbing forward to tug at the bottom of Mother Sun’s skirt. The goddess stepped backwards, out of her reach. “What would you have done, when my children’s blood ran out? When your magic couldn’t hold me anymore? What then?”
Amara only stared at her with cold, glittering eyes. Vedra had recovered somewhat. She sat atop the Seaglass, still collared, pain drawing her face into a rictus, but her posture was that of a queen. “You’d have broken long before the last was dead. And you’d have brought him back to us.”
Mother Sun laughed. “Bring back the Sea? Because you wished it?”
“Because we’d have let whoever else was left go. Their lives for his.”
“You cling so desperately to the memory of Father Sea. Do you forget that I destroyed all of our children after his betrayal?”
“Yours and his. These ones, they’re yours alone.”
Mother Sun hmmphed at that, but didn’t answer.
“Kill us, then,” said Amara. “It’s what you do.”
Perhaps she’d expected further discussion. Her eyes widened as Mother Sun shrugged and lifted one golden hand.
It was Sister Moon who stopped her. “There’s a better way.”
Mother Sun peered at her as if she’d said the sky was green. “They killed my son. They tortured my daughter. They kidnapped and bled the rest, all to bind me. What is there for them, besides death?”
“They want to be with him so badly, we give them what they want.” Sister Moon smiled, and Yulla shivered. It was cold, and cruel, and clever. Mother Sun bent to let her whisper in her ear, and when she straightened, she wore a smile to match.
“Girl.” Mother Sun pointed at Kell. Kell squeaked. “Bring me water. A bucket, a basin, it doesn’t matter.” Kell bowed and ran off, smart enough not to question the order, and Mother Sun turned her gaze on Yulla. “It would seem I’m in your debt.”
Ember came forward and took Yulla’s bandaged hand in his own as he drew her closer. Yulla was grateful—she thought her legs might give out from shaking. “Mother, this is Yulla. She saved me. She saved all of us.”
“By breaking the decree, it seems. Coming up above while you were walking the city.”
Yulla quailed. Was her disobedience the last straw? Would Mother Sun make an example of her?
Sister Moon snorted, as indelicate a sound as when Aunt Mouse did it and twice as scornful. “Tell me you’re not about to scold her for that.”
“Of course not,” Mother Sun said, but in the way Amma did when she changed plans and pretended the new one had been her intended course all along. “But I don’t know what might be a fitting reward.”
Reward? “I don’t need... I didn’t do anything that...” Yulla gaped at them all. Movement toward the edge of the crowd caught her attention. The people hovered, uncertain. Not quite afraid, but wary. Their goddesses stood among them. She saw Amma and Aunt Mouse at the front, Abba supported between them. “My father was hurt,” she said. “Can you... would you heal him? And anyone else that needs it?”
“That’s my domain,” said Sister Moon. She beckoned, and, looking stunned, Amma and Aunt Mouse brought Abba up the steps and to the floor’s ragged edge. Tears flowed down Amma’s cheeks as her eyes met Yulla’s, but she kept her jaw set, her shoulders straight. Unshakeable Amma, Yulla thought, and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.
At Sister Moon’s touch, Abba groaned and began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, went wide, and as soon as he was able to stand without assistance, he dropped to his knees and bent his head. Amma and Aunt Mouse began to follow suit, but Sister Moon stopped them. “Not after what your daughter has done for us all. Not
after the way all of you tried to fight.” She spread her hands out to encompass the crowd. “You’ve all done well. There’s nothing to fear, not from us.”
Kell came panting back, water sloshing over the side of the bucket she’d found. It must have come from a nearby horse trough; bits of hay clung to the bottom rim. She slowed her steps and attempted to salvage her dignity as she skirted around the edge of the ruined dance floor. By the time she set the bucket at Mother Sun’s feet and backed away to join Amma, and Abba, and Aunt Mouse, she was as poised as a priestess.
“THIS IS YOUR domain as well,” said Mother Sun.
Sister Moon returned to the Seaglass and picked up the bucket. She might have been any citizen of Kaladim, carrying water as one of her daily tasks, except for the soft glow that had appeared around her. It was hard to see compared to the flames of Mother Sun and her children. She set the bucket in the middle of the witch-women and hunkered down. “You wish to be with your father again. Mother Sun is right: wishes are mine. As is the shedding of skins, the changing of forms. So now I grant you both.
“You’ll live in Father Sea’s waters. You’ll swim so deep, neither Mother Sun nor I will ever have to look upon you, nor you us. You’ll feed on what lives at the bottom, as you deserve. And all that time, you’ll know what you were, and what you can never be again.”
She passed her hands over each of them. Silver light bathed the witch-women, growing brighter and brighter until their forms disappeared in the brilliance. When it faded, they were gone. Yulla could just see into the bucket from where she stood.
Three fish swam around inside, circling and circling in the cramped space. Their bodies were low and flat and sleek; Yulla couldn’t tell which had been whom.
“I know you’re here,” said Mother Sun. “Enough hiding.”
The Wind moaned, low and sad. It eddied around Yulla’s ankles like a frightened cat. Yulla thought of Siwa, swimming there with her sisters despite having freed the Fire Children, and Mother Sun. Despite having begged for her life—perhaps the begging had been more out of terror than contrition, but she’d asked for mercy all the same.
If you went back far enough, the Wind had started all this. She had won Father Sea away from Mother Sun. She had birthed the witch-women’s ancestors. She had done Vedra’s bidding these last few days.
But she helped us, too.
“Please don’t hurt her,” Yulla said. She crouched down; the Wind curled around her. “Please. What happened with her and Father Sea was so long ago. And she helped the witch-women because they made her. She was bound just like you were. She helped us, though, the best she could.”
Ember peered at her curiously. He’d only seen the Wind obeying Vedra and her sisters, aside from those last few minutes when he and Yulla tried sending her on to Father Sea themselves. He’d been captured when the Wind offered her comfort, even while fulfilling her orders to hold Yulla back. He’d been below ground when she’d pushed Yulla into the city. He’d been fighting Siwa when the Wind carried the leashes to Vedra and Amara.
“She did what she could, Ember. When they took you away.”
At last he nodded. “All right,” he said, and addressed his mother. “Mercy. Like you’ve always taught us.” He dropped his voice and gestured to the people outside, all of them witnessing this exchange. “Like you’ve always asked of them.”
Mother Sun hmmphed again. She looked from Ember to Yulla and back. Yulla wanted to shrink away from it, to hide behind Ember or flee to her parents’ side, but she thought of her own mother, standing tall before Sister Moon. She held her ground. And Mother Sun’s gaze.
“Very well,” said Mother Sun. Yulla had the sense, from the way she focused at a spot just over Yulla’s shoulder, that she could actually see the Wind. “I release you from your bonds. Go to him, and take your children with you. Or spill them out onto the sands to die, if you’d rather. It is no matter to me.”
The Wind let out a whoop of joy. She swirled around Yulla and Ember, and for a moment, those gentle arms embraced them both. She riffled Ember’s hair, then Yulla’s, then picked up the witch-women and went howling away. It sounded like laughter.
When the air was still again, Mother Sun stepped forward, so close Yulla was sure she’d be incinerated. But her heat was different than Ember’s, the warmth of the desert just after dawn, or the stones on their rooftop late at night, still holding the heat they’d drunk in during the day. “Your father’s healing was my sister’s boon. Think on what you’d ask of me.” She touched Yulla’s cheek and gave Ember an unreadable look, then moved away. Up the ramp and around, toward the people waiting outside. Sister Moon went with her, calling for the injured to be brought forth.
Then she and Ember were alone in the center of the Seaglass. Her family watched from one side of the room, his siblings from the other, but for the moment, it was as alone as they could get.
“I don’t know what to ask her for,” said Yulla. “There’s nothing I need.”
Ember took her hands. “Then ask her if you can come with me.”
“If I can... What?”
“Come live with me. With us.”
Yulla boggled at him. “I couldn’t survive it. On the sun?”
“Sister Moon was human, once. It can be done. She must know how. I mean, if you want.” His blue eyes flared with excitement. “Or you could stay with Sister Moon, and I’d come to you. We could... We could ride the comets, and see what else is out there. Anywhere we wanted to go. If you found somewhere you liked, we could make it ours. You’d be its moon, and I’d be the star in your sky. Or you could be its Sea, or its Wind, or, or anything.”
She looked at her family, clustered together at the front of the hall. She’d missed them so much these last few days, had drawn strength from what they’d all taught her, even Kell. And Kell... She’d followed Yulla’s lead today, unquestioningly. Bravely. She couldn’t leave them. Not yet.
“Ember,” she said, and thought her heart might break. “I just want to be me. Here. There’s... There are things I haven’t done yet. Things I want to do. I...” She blushed and ducked her head. It seemed almost childish, but she said it anyway. “I haven’t even danced my versam yet. I’m not ready to leave, not so soon.”
He couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes, though he tried. “I understand.”
“I want to do all those things, too,” she said. And she did. Gods, she wanted to. She imagined herself soaring along on a comet’s tail, swimming in the seas of other worlds, meeting their people. What would it feel like, to skim across the sky, to see the constellations whose names Abba had taught her from a whole new vantage? And all of it with Ember at her side? “If I say no now, does that mean it’s the end? If it’s no, is it no forever?”
“Of course not. I can come back with the next eclipse.”
“But that could be a long time. The last one was fifteen years ago.”
“It could be. And if it is, Yulla...” He traced her jaw, smiling sadly. “If it is, you live your life. Okay? Don’t spend it waiting for me to come back.”
She understood. But she didn’t want to wait that long. Maybe I don’t have to. “I think I know what I’ll ask from your Mother.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see,” she said. “First, come meet my family. Kell looks like she might explode if we don’t go over there.” She led him up the ramp and around, to where they all waited.
As Abba swept her into an embrace, as Amma and Aunt Mouse fussed over her burnt hands, her cuts and bruises, as Kell told anyone who listened that’s my sister. Yulla did it, Yulla saved them, Yulla grinned up at the sky. Was this how the Brigand Queen felt, at the end of her adventures?
This is better, I bet. This is a thousand thousand times better.
DUSK HAD SETTLED over the desert, leaving the sky a hazy purple. The first few stars had come out, providing scant light as Yulla hurried across the sands. Mother Sun had set, only the thinnest streak of orange on the far horizon to te
ll where she’d been. Sister Moon wouldn’t rise for hours yet. They said she grew lazy in the summer, letting the heat of the day dissipate before she got out of bed.
Sort of like Aunt Mouse.
The sand was cool under her feet. The heavy skirts of her versam dress made it harder to walk, but she’d refused to change out of it. Not tonight. The dance had been everything she’d hoped—bright and happy, the dancers’ feet stomping out their cheerful rhythm on the rebuilt floor.
The wood they’d used to replace what the witch-women had destroyed was nothing special, nothing magical. Maybe that was for the better.
Mother Sun had shattered the Seaglass before they left. The priests had taken its pieces back to the Worship Hall. Yulla didn’t know what they’d done with them, but it didn’t much matter.
The people of Kaladim had filled in the cavern below, where the witch-women had kept the Fire Children and Yulla. It took them weeks, hauling rocks and stone in from the desert, figuring out how to collapse the tunnels leading to it without threatening the stability of the rest, but they’d done it. Only then had they turned their efforts towards rebuilding the versam hall. What lay below might have belonged to the witch-women and Father Sea, but the hall itself was theirs, their tradition, their ancestors’ handiwork, and no way were they going to let it be ruined by what Vedra and her sisters had done.
Besides, miracles had happened there, too. Hadn’t Mother Sun and Sister Moon walked among them? Hadn’t the Fire Children spent a day visiting with the people, their flames dampened so no one else was hurt?
Today, Yulla had danced her versam, and danced it well. It was one item on a long list of things she wanted to do, and now that she was able to cross it off, she found she was a little bit sad.