by Rin Chupeco
“You should know by now that everything has a price, Tea. Contrite as you are, you still caused Daisy’s death. You still caused the blight. Imagine the countless lives we could save after you are gone. Now, kneel. No blindfold, I think. You deserve to die with your eyes open, seeing true justice done.”
“Wait,” I choked. “If I die, then Fox—Fox will—”
“You have no need to worry.” Kance pointed, and I saw a lifeless body nearby, matted with blood and grime.
I screamed, bolting out of his grip to reach for Fox, though there was nothing I could do to save him. “Oh, he’ll be all right,” Kance chuckled, hauling me back roughly. “He was dead to start with. But he’ll need a better body than the one you gave him.”
My knees buckled. Gently, as if he were an attentive lover, Kance guided my head onto the chopping block.
“Honor must be answered for, dearest Tea. Honor outweighs your reputation. Already you are called a villain, and for good reason—you have brought chaos into my kingdom with your petty desires, and you must answer for your crimes.”
He lifted my hair and pushed it to the side, exposing the back of my neck to the blade. I could feel the edge of the ax, sharp and ready, as it came to rest against my skin. “Do you still find yourself worthy, Tea of the Embers?” Kance asked, his tone cruel. “Do you still accept?”
I closed my eyes, tears leaking onto the block. “Yes,” I sobbed. I deserved to die, didn’t I? Daisy, Telemaine, Polaire, Fox—
The ax fell with a whoosh, and I found myself on my knees on the cave’s cold stone floor, my body heaving with sobs. “No more,” I cried. “No more!”
But there was one more path to take.
I fled, running away from that terrible stone and the horrors that lay beyond it. Except I found myself turned and standing before the marker. I tried to escape again, only to return to the place I was desperate to avoid. I would be running within this mountain until I faced its trial.
“No more,” I wept, though there was no choice before me.
This time, no one greeted me. A long, winding corridor took the place of the cavern, which had transformed into the oracle’s temple. I followed the path quickly, wanting the experience to be over with, afraid of what I might find.
“No.” He lay before the brazier with his eyes closed. A sword had been driven through his chest, and a puddle of blood had formed underneath him. His hair and his clothes were stained in its red.
“No!” I broke into a run, sobbing and screaming so loudly it was a wonder the walls didn’t shake. I drew the blade out of him, pressed my hands over the horrible wound, and push down, willing his chest to rise, his heart to beat. “No!”
I would have gladly endured all the terrors I had witnessed in this mountain again to be spared this sight. Kalen was clearly dead. A thin, crimson line ran down the side of his mouth. Irrationally, I drew the rune of Raising, willed all my energy into his body, taking in so much of the Dark that my vision blurred and the air crackled. “Don’t die!” I howled at him. “Please don’t die! You can’t!”
“It was inevitable. Everything you touch decomposes,” a familiar voice murmured, sounding almost amused. I didn’t look up, only continued to cry as Fox slowly crouched beside me, looking at Kalen’s body with cold detachedness. “Take it from me, dearest Sister. Dying isn’t all the fuss it’s made out to be.”
“I have to bring him back,” I wept.
“You can’t. Silver heartsglass, remember? Tricky stuff. Wield all the magic you want in your first life, but you don’t get a chance at a second. Fair trade, I’d say.” Fox picked up the sword that had stabbed Kalen and eyed it critically. “No different than the one that got me. A sword or a savul’s claw—as long as it gets the job done, what difference does it make if it is human or daeva? That doesn’t make you a different kind of dead. Now, Kalen—that’s a shame. He was devoted to you. Even now, I reckon he’d die saving your life.”
“I have to bring him back!”
“You can’t break the rules simply because you want to. More often than not, the rules wind up breaking you. You’re gonna save the world, Tea. But you’ll return to Kion to mourn on graves. Kalen’s gonna have to pay the price for your impulses.”
“I don’t want to save the world!”
“If you don’t save it, then everyone dies anyway. Then what difference will that make?” My brother grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “Love requires sacrifice, Tea. If it’s real love, then it will hurt. You’ll need to give him up. He’s a distraction and a weakness, and you can’t have more of those. Don’t you remember? Love is what got you into this mess, Sister. Love is the reason you raised me from the dead, and we’ve both been paying for that ever since—and all because you couldn’t let me go. Do you still find yourself worthy, Tea of the Embers? Do you still accept?”
I screamed, and this time the walls shuddered and collapsed. Rocks toppled toward us, Kalen and Fox and me. I closed my eyes. Briefly, in that expanse between fainting and waking, I saw a vision: Kance on a white horse, his army charging into an unending tide of Drychta—transformed, blighted Drychta.
When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting by the cave’s entrance, my teeth chattering. Kalen—alive and breathing—was by my side. He hastily pulled the hood from my head, his worried, brown eyes staring into mine. Khalad put his hand on my shoulder, scanning my heartsglass and breathing a loud sigh. “She’s scared and a little confused, and there’s a burn on her hand, but there’s nothing else wrong with her.”
“Tea?” Kalen asked hesitantly, gently nudging my face toward his. “Are you all right? You stumbled out of the mountain and fell. You’re crying… What happened in there?”
I hugged him tightly, my tears wet against his cheek. “I couldn’t accept.” I touched his jaw, his nose, his hair, every inch of him that my numbed hands could reach. “I failed, and I am so, so glad I did.”
“Why do you help her?” Lord Fox was angry, his ire directed at the Gorvekai leader. Fists clenched, hands straying toward the sword at his hip, every line of his body threatened violence. “She failed your test. Why would you show her how to wield shadowglass? Are you that desperate to see your prophecy fulfilled that you would give her your secrets rather than wait for someone worthy?”
“Why do you think your sister isn’t worthy?” Lord Agnarr was calm, more concerned with the bowl of tea between his hands than Lord Fox’s fury. We sat around a hastily built campfire as we waited out the night—enough time to beg mercy from whatever god would listen. We were to cross paths with the Odalian army the next day, and Lord Fox’s request for at least one good night’s sleep for our soldiers was a demand by the time his words filtered through the generals.
Lord Rahim had quietly volunteered for the first watch, suggesting two asha for every shift after his. Lady Zoya, however, showed no signs of wanting to rest. She reclined against a boulder, watching the exchange.
“Weren’t her letters proof enough? Why do you have so little faith?” Lord Agnarr asked.
Lord Fox glowered. “I can no longer trust her actions.”
“Do you intend to slay her before she finds the First Harvest?”
He hesitated. He attempted to speak, but the words died before I heard them, and he trailed into silence.
The Gorvekai glanced at Lord Khalad, who appeared deep in thought. “And what of you, Forger? You fought with her, shared her hopes and fears. Do you feel the same?”
The white-haired man blinked and shook himself out of his thoughts. “I do trust her, milord. I would not have forged lightsglass for her if I didn’t.”
“But you have your own motives for wishing her success, don’t you?” The Gorvekai’s voice was like stroking fur.
“I’d rather not talk about it, milord.” The fire fanned its shadows across Lord Khalad’s face.
“The night can overwhel
m,” the older man murmured. “There is good reason to fear those who wield too much of the Dark. I have seen many succumb to its lure, witnessed noble natures corrupted under its direction. But I have also seen some struggle to rise above its attraction. I am sorry for your other sister, Lord Fox. Lady Tea grieves too.”
“I cannot forgive her.” Lord Fox remained unbending.
“But do you still love her?”
The familiar looked away, and that was answer enough. “Why do you help her? She failed your trial.”
The man smiled, his expression sympathetic, almost pitying. “Because she didn’t, General Pahlavi. She passed.”
17
I slept for twelve hours straight, woken only by the smell of hot soup Likh brought into my room. I feared I might wake to find myself still in that dreaded cave or that the strange visions within might somehow have escaped to find me in my nightmares. But when I woke, Kalen’s fingers clasped mine, his palm folded over my smaller one.
“Was it real?” Likh asked quietly, watching me devour the meal. “You mentioned a fire in Kion. Surely nothing in that mountain was capable of burning your hand. The torches?”
My injury stung, wrapped in a bandage stuffed with herbs and other medicines. “I don’t know. You’ll need to question Agnarr. But I understand why so many people fail the mountain’s test. I’m sorry to be one of them.”
Likh scowled. “I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. Why would he subject people to that kind of trauma?”
“Because they have to be sure.” I had come away from Stranger’s Peak with more than a singed grip. “Gorvekai know the ingredients to shadowglass but cannot wield it on their own. The spell in the wrong Dark asha’s hands makes the world worse, not better. They need someone willing to sacrifice every ambition for it. I couldn’t.”
“But of course you’d refuse! Kion burning, being told you would die—what did they expect?”
I was silent.
“Agnarr wants to meet with us again once Tea feels up to it,” Khalad said.
“I’ll be ready as soon as I change this,” I said, lifting my hand. “It’s starting to smell.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Can you accompany Khalad for a bit, Kalen?” Likh asked. “I want to discuss something with Tea.”
Kalen looked over at me, and I nodded. “We’ll be back soon,” he promised.
“I don’t trust this Agnarr fellow,” Likh began heatedly after they left. “I don’t care if he thinks you’re not the right kind of Dark asha, even if you clearly are. We don’t have another twenty years for the next one to come along and meet his requirements. There are Drychta and Faceless in Yadosha right now. He and the Gorvekai can afford to wait in their little corner of the world, but King Kance can’t!”
I was watching the kaleidoscope of colors in Likh’s heartsglass change from silver to red to blue to yellow in dizzying patterns. He was angry for other reasons. Was it because Agnarr had called him Lady Likh?
I didn’t realize I’d spoken the question aloud until Likh froze, the scowl slipping from his face. I pushed on hurriedly.
“Is that how you want to be called? Admittedly, it feels odd to hear others call you Lord or Sir.”
Likh’s expression turned pained. “Lady puts me off guard, gives rise to other thoughts. But would it be strange to ask for that title?”
“Is that what you’d like?”
He spent several seconds in thought, then straightened. “Being a girl or a boy or a Deathseeker or an asha isn’t about how you were born; it’s about who you are. You had no say in how you were born, and neither did I, but my ability to be true to who I am is the reason I’m an asha, not a Deathseeker. And the reason you’re an asha, not a Faceless.
“I don’t want to make other people uncomfortable, but I want to be who I am, and I need to understand my pride in that before anything else. Even if there are no spells to give me that shape, it doesn’t stop me from knowing I am a woman, whatever else they may say. Can’t…can’t I at least have that?”
“And I’ll support you,” I promised, smiling. “Every step of the way, Lady Likh.”
Likh grinned sheepishly. “It sounds so much simpler than doing it.”
“The best truths are always simple, I think. Life makes them complicated. Agnarr sounds like a rather perceptive person, and he seems to get to the heart of the matter quickly. I bow to his wisdom and yours.”
Likh laughed, suddenly shy. “Thank you. I’m not entirely convinced of his wisdom yet. But back to the issue at hand—now that you’ve been refused shadowglass, what do we do? We’re no better off now than we were before coming to Istera.”
“I don’t want to be their chosen Dark asha, Likh. But perhaps we can find another compromise.”
“We’ve received word from the Gorvekai,” Kalen said, returning with Khalad. “They want to see us.”
“Let’s not keep them waiting.” Khalad treated my injury, then we stood. “Shall we see what Lord Agnarr wants, Lady Likh?”
Likh giggled. Khalad looked puzzled, but a smile tugged at the corners of Kalen’s mouth.
“I am sorry,” Lord Agnarr said when we had entered his hut, “that we could not come to an agreement.”
“How exactly is Stranger’s Peak capable of its magic?” Kalen asked. “It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. How has this been kept a secret for so long?”
“The average asha or Deathseeker may enter, but they will find nothing there on their own. Dark asha and Faceless who have attempted shadowglass have reasons to keep our secret. If they cannot be chosen, then it is to their benefit that no one else is. The legends of Hollow Knife and Blade that Soars have always been shrouded in mystery. But there is one detail that many have forgotten: where the two brothers fell, a mountain rose in their place.”
Khalad stared. “Stranger’s Peak marks where Blade that Soars and Hollow Knife died?”
“We are both blessed and cursed with this legacy. The visions you’ve seen inside that sacred mountain are truths that have not yet come to pass, Lady Tea. They show the price you must be willing to pay to accept shadowglass.”
“I’m sorry I was not worthy,” I said.
“There was nothing you did wrong. We each have different roles to play. A farmer cannot be asked to assume the responsibilities of the bricklayer. They may not be as powerful in the eyes of others as, say, a king, but they are important to running a kingdom.”
“But what now?” Likh blurted out. “We are running out of time. Even as we speak, war is brewing between the Odalians and the Drychta. Faceless have King Aadil’s ear. Nothing good will come out of this, and they will not stop until they get their hands on shadowglass. How long before they come after you to demand the location of the First Harvest?”
Agnarr smiled. “They have tried in the past and will never succeed. They have connived and schemed for centuries, always seeking a way to push past our defenses. But we will prevail.”
“Will you?” Likh challenged him. “You might have bested them in the past because you outnumbered them, but that’s no longer the case. They’ve rallied other kingdoms to their cause. Drycht was not the first to turn. Odalia came close. Aenah was only defeated through Lady Tea’s efforts. You may have more runebinders on your side, but how would you fare when faced with armies twenty times your size? They will have no qualms about manipulating other innocents to wage their war against you. Can you say the same?”
Agnarr studied Likh with interest until the asha’s ears turned pink. “We will fight, every man and woman, to our last breath,” he said, “but the winters grow longer, and men grow more complacent. There is truth in what you say, Lady Likh. It sounds like you have an alternative proposal for us.”
Likh glanced back at me.
I took over. “We do. I have no intentions of ruling or taking away magic. All I d
esire is that no one else does until another Dark asha is deemed worthy of the curse. Faceless know the process of both lightsglass and darkglass. What if they ignore the mountain and attempt to create shadowglass on their own?”
“One asha tried. The founder of Kion herself. Lightsglass she discovered on her own, and the bezoars she tried to collect. But when she attempted darkglass within that Ring of Worship the explosion took out much of Drycht and caused the Dry Lands. It was already an arid desert during the Great Heroes’ time, but now nothing grows there. The results will be very much similar to those who attempt shadowglass without our mountain’s benediction.”
I gasped. “Vernasha of the Roses tried to make shadowglass?! But she tried to ban the spell!”
“Temptation is strange, Lady Tea—it crawls out of unexpected places. The idea that she could shape magic to her own desires may have held some appeal. I assume it was a cause for shame among the asha, and most information surrounding her death was buried quickly.”
“That might not stop others from trying to make shadowglass.” Khalad spoke up. “People never believe paint is wet until they have touched it for themselves. Somehow I don’t believe Aenah or Usij were willing to wait and let Stranger’s Peak pass judgment on them.”
Likh frowned. “So you’re saying we need to at least hide the bezoars?”
“That’s been worrying me for some time,” Kalen said. “Why not collect them sooner? Surely they could have gathered all the bezoars before we ever came into the picture?”
“I think it’s because of the resurrection seasons of the daeva,” Khalad theorized. “They tend to be staggered—the taurvi takes seven years, for example, and the nanghait three, and so on. There’s never been an occasion where all seven daeva could be resurrected to take their bezoars at the same time. When the savul can have its bezoar harvested, the zarich’s would be close to rotting. The azi had not been sighted since the Great Heroes’ lifetimes, and gods only know where Aenah found it.”