Song of the Earth: Book Four of the Firebird's Daughter series

by Kyrja

  Honsa! He was terrified! No! Suddenly, he could feel all of his bondmates at once, and the others as well. “You wish to travel to a place that only those who are dead may enter.” Yakuza had said those words to his grandfather. At the time, Ordan hadn’t really understood the impact of those words. Perhaps he’d thought they were only symbolic, or some kind of ritualistic greeting … something. But now – with all of the emotions flowing through him, he felt his own fear rise. He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing! Were they being slaughtered? It felt as though each and every one of their emotions were being directed – aimed! – at him. Even Yakuza was afraid of failure – what did that mean?! Failure to keep them safe? To make sure they were dead? What?

  Tyran’s greatest fear was coming to pass … being buried alive? Why would she think she was being buried alive? Ceirat was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. Honsa was devastated. He felt betrayed. He wanted to die! No! Vory was fighting her fear with anger – she refused to die for nothing! Even Shio’s emotions were reaching him – she was drowning. She was made of stone and drowning. For the last time ever. Where was Gaku? He couldn’t feel Gaku! Was he the cause of all of this disharmony? Was he the cause of their distress and maybe even ….

  No! Ordan would not let this happen without doing something about it. No. He wasn’t going to just stand here and let them all die. Invoking the bond, he reached out to Honsa, Ceirat, and Tyran.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was dead. Everywhere Honsa looked, everything was dead. Destroyed. Devastated. Nothing would ever grow again. The soil itself was dead. Rotted. Giya had been gone too long. She was the planet and the planet was her. If the planet was dead, she must be too. He fell to his knees, unable to stop the tears. Unwilling. Someone should be mourning for all that was lost. Everyone should be mourning. The vast amount of life this planet represented was gone. Just gone. And he hadn’t done enough to stop it. To fix it. To help make it all right again. He’d been given a gift and it hadn’t helped one small bit. He’d known and he had tried. He had, damn it!

  Dropping to the ground, he dug his hands into the soil, then began to dry heave. Choking and hacking, he was unable to even vomit. It was poisoned. The land itself was poisoned. Why had this happened? Why had Giya ever gone to Jikangai? How could she not know this would happen?

  “WHY?!” he shook his fists, screaming to the sky. “Why did you do this?! You’ve killed us all! I hate you for letting this happen! You were supposed to protect us! You were supposed to help us thrive! You weren’t supposed to kill us! Why did you do this!” On his knees, he hung his head, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, dear Giya,” he whispered. “I failed you. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  He never moved when the music washed through him, causing the earth to tremble, then fall away beneath him.

  * * * * * * * *

  The anger, fear, and remorse at war within Gaku was causing unintended, yet vast, discord in the flow of the Song surrounding him and the others with him. His emotions, so long kept in check, were no longer his to control. In having joined in the Song as a Joojinta, the vibrations which were uniquely his as a living, breathing, sentient being, blended with the existing melody, changing both the pitch and tempo; the echoes of those vibrations rippling through each of his companions.

  Sustaining the single note that was his to sing required no effort on his part at all. No breathing, thinking, nor conscious choice was necessary once he began. Instead, his fears were free to badger him. His memories set loose to taunt him. His regrets, no longer locked securely away, were hurled to the forefront of his thoughts to drown him in sorrow. He felt broken, shattered, unable to do more than to watch as scene after scene scourged him of his sanity. What dignity he had held onto after his son, Suket, had taken his own life, crumbled into ashes. He fell to one knee then, grief a physical weight he was unable to bear. Even the pride he’d felt in making sure his precious daughter, Mahdar, had fled instead of staying so she, too, would surrender to the Song, was ripped from him. He’d been selfish and afraid. He had taken their choices from them, forgetting that children only come through their parents and not to them, as if they were nothing more than some kind of tools or material to mold to their own will. They had their own souls. Their own choices to make, and he had shredded their free will in forbidding them to join the Song.

  “Come Gaku,” a voice sounded above him. He knew that voice. Had always known that voice, and the music within it, even when she was merely speaking instead of singing. He bowed his head, understanding how terribly he had failed her. Sangeet, his precious wife. He had only ever wanted to spend his life with her, to cherish each moment under the sun he had with her. Instead, he had turned away in fear and anger, losing everything.

  “It is not time, yet, for you to join me in the Song,” he heard her say. Frowning, he looked up at her, not understanding. Isn’t that what she had always wanted? For him to surrender? She stood there, holding out her hand to him, as she had done many times before. With a smile on her face and understanding in her eyes. He reached towards her, no matter that he deserved no mercy. No matter that he had failed her. Hungry for her touch. He would do anything to be able to just touch her one more time. Anything at all.

  “You must also remember love, my sweet husband,” then she took his hand and Gaku fell into a sensation of pure bliss. He was home. He was safe. Nothing else mattered at all.

  * * * * * * * *

  In the Second Circle of Jikangai, Yakuza shook his head, not understanding how he’d arrived here. Looking around, he saw all the others doing the same, looking at each other with shocked expressions. His grandfather, though, was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Palace Death Spell

  Looking at the three women in front of him, Rajesh began to have second thoughts. No, more like fifth or sixth thoughts, about going to Jikangai. He’d spent most of his unnaturally long life convinced he could only do the things he’d done – the least of which was remaining invisible most of the time – because Lumas had been using him. He had firmly believed she held all the power and he was nothing more than her tool. He had always questioned her decision in including him among the Ahadi, certain she had only done so out of pity for him. Perhaps mercy. Perhaps her own guilt for what she had done to his mother.

  Regardless, he had never truly believed himself worthy of being counted as an equal among them. And for her to have put him in charge of them had been a joke in his mind. A cruel one at that. No matter how many times he had questioned her for doing so, she had always assured him that he was her first choice. He had never really believed her though. Not ever. At least, not until after she’d left him behind and she was no longer there. That’s when he had finally discovered that he might, after all, be able to do the things he had always done. And more, in fact. Things he would never have thought of doing as Giya’s Ahadi.

  And now, here he stood, the one the women in front of him were depending on. There were others, too. So many others. All depending on him to get these three - and their strange burden – to Jikangai. And to help his own mother to be released from the torment Lumas had inflicted on her. It was all a bit much for him, and yet he found himself unable to turn away, to refuse. He marveled at the fact that these women had all lived their lives secure in the knowledge there was one god, and only one god, and that one god had betrayed them all. Every living being on the entire planet would have been killed if Sov would have had his way. And still, here they were, looking to him, as if their expectations of him were logical and sound.

  The last time he’d been to see his mother had been like most of the times before. He had walked the perimeter of the inner circle beside her, telling her of life outside of Jikangai. She was on the inside and he was always on the outside, vigilant not to get too close. Since she couldn’t speak to him, he never knew whether she was pleased with his coming, or the news he brought, or if she would have preferred he never came at all. He always felt vaguely guilty for disturbin
g her, wondering if she would prefer not to know of those things in which she would never be able to participate.

  Nor could he reach through the barrier in order to offer the warmth of his touch. He’d tried a couple of times, but had felt the tearing away of life even as his hand neared the empty space which represented the unseen boundary between the two circles. He had often wondered if her husband, Zemer, had walked beside her as he’d done while he lived out many lifetimes within the Second Circle. Or was the difference in time between the two places so disparate that he’d been unable to even do that much? His own thoughts were that even if Lumas hadn’t created the Second Circle at the same time as she’d made the inner circle, that she would have found a way to make time slow in the outer circle so that Zemer and Deiserin would only ever be able to glimpse each other from time to time, but would never be able to even walk side by side.

  As a god, Rajesh had no difficulty in maintaining a steady pace beside his mother, regardless of whether time in the two circles were the same or vastly different. Lumas had always been kind to him, but quite the opposite to his mother. He’d been tempted a time or two to step through the boundary, to spend eternity with his mother so she would no longer be alone, but he knew he would never be able to leave, and “never” is a very, very long time. He knew that if he had been the tortoise and his mother had remained outside, he would not have wanted her to suffer the same terrible fate, and so he placated himself with the thought that she would feel the same. Something else for him to feel guilty about. That, and the fact that, in his heart of hearts, he knew the kind of woman Deiserin really was, and knew she would never have offered to join him. No, chances are she would never have visited him either. He hadn’t visited, though, in many years. Unable to bear the sting of guilt for having failed to free her, and the guilt for having tried to kill her in order to release her from the punishment Lumas had inflicted upon her, he had simply chosen to stay away.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Lumas had left some kind of key so that she might be freed, but in order to win her freedom, someone else would have to pay. That much he knew with utter conviction. As kind, generous, and loving as she had been to him, he had witnessed her distain and callous disregard for most others. She possessed nothing which might be considered – or mistaken as – a “moral compass,” nor even any adherence to what anyone might point to as ethical considerations. She did as she pleased. Nothing more and nothing less. Without regard for any consequences which might adversely affect any other living being, whether they were human, animal, or deity.

  Rajesh couldn’t help but to wonder, given that she had expended so much kindness to him, if he wasn’t – after all – the key to freeing Deiserin. In his mind, it would make sense that Lumas would consider her generosity towards him as a “balancing.” Which probably meant that he truly was the only one who would be able to free his mother. The woman who had slit his throat, then had disowned him. Suppressing a deeply-felt sigh, he raised his chin, ready to do what needed to be done to take Sakari, Kraas, and Zaria to Jikangai. He would have preferred to have gone alone, but he knew they would find another way to get there without him. This way, he might be better able to protect them, or at least to keep them from getting themselves killed for nothing. He hadn’t voiced his concern about bringing the Emperor with them, because they had already decided that was exactly what they were going to do. Even though there was no reason for any of them to come. None at all. The Emperor’s blood wouldn’t help them; he wasn’t even a true son of Deiserin’s adopted children. They all knew that. But he was so close to death, it really didn’t matter anyway.

  “Come closer,” he told them, waving his hands to encourage them to do so. “Everyone should be touching me. I will hold the Emperor,” he said, lifting him from the floor where they had laid him after Sahil’s unsuccessful attempt to revive him. “The rest of you gather up the councilor. Zaria, you take his head, Sakari, take his feet, and Kraas, you hold his torso. Yes. That’s it. Now come as close to me as you can get.” He paused, watching them work together. “Just a little closer. Good.” He paused. “Ready?” When they each nodded, he stepped forward, feeling them move with him, from the room where they were gathered in the palace into the Second Circle of Jikangai.

  * * * * * * * *

  Trying to distract herself from her own feelings, Zaria watched as the emotions played out on Rajesh’s face. Of all the people in the room who were judging her, she knew he was not. His thoughts were turned inward, facing his own judgement, afraid he would never be enough to do the things he knew he was “supposed” to be able to do. It was a relief to watch his own struggles – arguments which required no emotions from her – instead of facing her own. She was sure she would always remember the looks on Sakari and Sahil’s faces when she had refused to help the Emperor and Councilor Fumaini.

  “But that’s what you do now!” Sakari had insisted. “You’re not a Fire Tender any more, you’re a healer. A Magami!” she pressed.

  “Magami no te!” she had responded. Firmly. “Hand of the Goddess. Which goddess do you think I serve?”

  The argument had not gone well for either of them. There was nothing any of them could have done to compel her to heal the two men, so the final word was hers. She wasn’t happy having to remind any of them that she’d been a slave all of her life, forced to do many things against her will, including murdering dozens – probably hundreds – of people. Nor could a single one of them provide her with a reason to do so, beyond it being the “right” thing to do. It wasn’t. Not at all. The Emperor had caused many to die, had tortured many more, and had even raped his daughter. No matter that his “councilor” had lived in fear of his life, he had made his own choices and was no innocent party. Zaria knew withholding her magic meant they would both die. Even Sahil had said so, and he wasn’t one to give into dramatic overtures to get his own way. If he had been able to heal the men, he would have done so, and had said he would have. That didn’t mean his answer was right for her.

  She took small comfort in the silence Rhian offered. The Emperor may not have been her father by blood, and he may, in fact, have deserved death for his actions against her, but Rhian had withheld her voice. She had sat quietly, watching the argument play itself out, as each person had their say, then had stood up, clapping her hands. Everyone had immediately ceased talking to hear what she had to say.

  “Since the only person who can heal them refuses to do so, there is nothing more to be said. The matter is closed.”

  To Zaria’s surprise, even Sakari obeyed Rhian’s edict. But she turned away from her when she tried to make eye contact. It was impossible to know if that meant she no longer wanted her in her life, or if Sakari was afraid she would no longer want her in hers. Time would tell. For her part, Zaria was eager to put the question of the lives of the two men behind her. Permanently.

  As she stepped forward with Rajesh and the others, she felt, more than heard, music surrounding her, wondering where it was coming from.

  * * * * * * * *

  With her back turned on everyone else in the room, Kraas stood looking out the window, grateful she was standing here, instead of out there, killing people, or being killed herself. Or maimed. She’d long had a reoccurring nightmare where she’d had her leg cut off and nearly bled to death. During waking hours, she doubted rather seriously that anyone would be able to get close enough to her to be able to inflict that kind of wound, given how powerful of a magical arsenal she had at-hand. Still, they had all only narrowly escaped defending themselves and the palace itself because Kaya and Aidena had interfered in the Emperor’s plans.

  Thinking of the Emperor, she shook her head. He wasn’t as tall as she’d been expecting. Or maybe he just looked shrunken because he was near death. Fumaini was still getting stronger though. He would probably wake up soon. Or maybe not. Nobody seemed to know. Not even Sahil. It was strange that he didn’t know how to counter the magic the Emperor had used in order to steal Fumain
i’s life. Of course, that’s what was making Sakari so tense, and she knew it. She didn’t think anyone else would be able to guess how upsetting it was to her that Sahil didn’t know something. Especially not when it was so urgently needed. He always knew what to do. He always did. Even when he didn’t, he still did something. But not this time. And Sakari didn’t know how to handle it.

  Zaria was right in not wanting to heal the Emperor, but she wasn’t about to tell Sakari that. It was a very strange position to be in – between Sakari and someone else. It wasn’t a place she’d ever been before. They had just always been together and on the same “side.” They’d had plenty of disagreements, a few real arguments, and two fist fights, but this was something very, very different. And if she took the time to think about it, Sakari would be the first to admit that she damn well didn’t want to give someone as evil as the Emperor the chance to hurt anyone else ever again.

  No, her insistence that Zaria heal the two men was about Sahil not having the answers. Sakari was both shocked and disappointed, and confused about how to feel about it. She wanted Zaria to try so that Sahil wouldn’t look like he had failed. For his part, Sahil didn’t seem overly concerned about the Emperor dying, only obsessively concerned that he didn’t understand the magic the Emperor had used in tying his own lifeforce to Councilor Fumaini’s. Sahil was a wonderful mentor, teacher, friend, and father figure. But there had to be some things even he didn’t know. Kraas was worried Sakari would push Zaria away after this, that her pride would be too hurt. She hoped not. She was already beginning to really like her.