by L. Penelope
The man’s brows climbed up his forehead. Zeli felt a little light-headed at the uncharacteristic display of force. Gilmer, however, grinned.
“I knew I liked her. Tell me, child, what do you know of blood magic?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve heard of it, but that’s about all. It was forbidden in Lagrimar.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure that Eero forbade things that could have harmed him. Blood magic is the most ancient of powers native to this world. The Founders of Elsira and Lagrimar, much like the matriarchs of my siblings and me—those who birthed us—were from elsewhere. But that world crumbled and died, destroyed from within and all were forced to flee.
“Your Founders and our matriarchs were of the original line. Their children, me, my siblings, your Goddess, we all have a similar lineage. We are not as powerful as our parents, but strong enough to be considered deities here.”
“You are Seconds,” Yllis said.
“Yes, if the original line from that destroyed world are the Firsts, then we are the Seconds,” Gilmer said. “Though we did not count ancestors the way that you all did in the north.”
He clasped his hands together and sighed. “My siblings and I arrived in this land to find the people at war. We tried to bring peace.” He shook his head. “At any rate. The blood magic practiced in the mountains separating Elsira and Lagrimar and found elsewhere on this continent was potent stuff. Very powerful and easily abused. The clever discovered it could be combined with Earthsong to create new things.”
Gilmer turned to Zeli. “Did you bring it with you?”
“Bring what?” Varten asked, but Zeli knew. She felt the truth of what he was really asking, but was ashamed to say. She shouldn’t have brought it, hadn’t told Varten that she was doing so. It was dangerous, but when she’d left the palace, leaving it within the reach of the Goddess had felt just as wrong.
She twisted the sack in which she carried her meager belongings and reached inside to pull out an object as long as her forearm and covered in brown fabric. She unwrapped it carefully to reveal the king stone. “When Queen Jasminda and the Goddess defeated the True Father, they trapped all of the Songs he stole within this caldera.” Inside the red encasement was a dagger, blood still dark on its blade. The caldera was warm in her hand, as if it generated its own heat.
“You stole it?” Varten’s voice was awed with a hint of reproach.
“I didn’t want to leave it with Her. I don’t trust Her.” The fire of betrayal still burned hot within Zeli when she thought of the Goddess. Yllis remained silent, gazing icily at the caldera.
Gilmer was quiet for a moment, his mind far away before he focused back on her. “These calderas are powerful objects, used for centuries to change the course of Earthsong. Their creation requires a sacrifice, and another sacrifice is needed to use them. Sometimes small, sometimes large.”
“Blood, right?” Zeli asked.
Yllis spoke up. “Major calderas, such as the one you hold, require a death in order to become active. Long ago I created one. Its purpose was to hold my Song after my death and give it to Oola so that She might finally end the war with her brother.” His dark eyes never left the king stone, and Zeli wanted to hide it from him. As if he felt her discomfort, he looked away, toward the red obelisk in the center of the space. “In order to release the stolen Songs within that stone, Eero must die. His life must be sacrificed.”
Gilmer reached forward, a question in his gaze. Zeli nodded and allowed him to take the king stone from her gently. “My old friend is right in one regard, death is one form of sacrifice. But it is not the only way.”
Yllis frowned. “It is the only way the Cantors discovered, and we spent centuries researching blood magic and calderas.”
“And you don’t listen.” Gilmer’s voice was even. “You did not then and you are not now. The problem with scholars is that you so often seek knowledge for its own sake. You understand what you choose to, filtering your discoveries through your own perceptions. There are many forms of sacrifice in this world. Think of the meaning of the word.” He focused on Zeli. “What does it mean to you?”
She thought for a moment. “To give something up.”
“Anything?”
“Something important to you,” she said.
“Something of great value,” Varten offered. “Something precious.”
Gilmer nodded. “If you want to release what’s inside this caldera, Tarazeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats, what are you willing to give up?” His soft smile was almost fatherly.
What was she willing to give up? She’d risked much to get this far—her safety, her future, but she already knew that wasn’t the type of sacrifice he meant.
“I can show you how to restore Songs, starting with your own,” Gilmer said.
Her breath caught at his words. “You can bring my Song back? Can you just bring everyone’s back?”
Gilmer shook his head. “That is not for me to do, and furthermore, I cannot from here. Some level of proximity is needed.”
She exhaled, trying not to show her disappointment. “But mine?”
He held the king stone like an offering and held her gaze. “You have to choose what you will give up.”
“What sort of thing should it be?”
Yllis snorted. “This doesn’t make any sense. It’s blood magic, it needs blood and death. Maybe the girl should open an artery.”
Zeli swallowed, and Varten shot him an angry glare, but Gilmer remained just as calm as before. “This magic is created with blood, true. But the spell to unlock it needs only a surrender. A yielding. What do you hold dear? What makes you who you are? What is as easy as breathing to you? What is holding you back?”
His last question gripped her hard. She stared at the encased dagger, an idea forming in her mind. But that didn’t make sense, did it?
Gilmer continued, “There is a debt that is owed this spell. Blood flows through our veins, brings us life, and its spilling is the loss of the precious. But there are other things that sustain us. Other valuable commodities that fuel our tanks, if you will. What brought you here today?”
She struggled to find the right word. “Duty.”
Gilmer tilted his head. “Just duty?”
Her mouth trembled. “No.” She blinked slowly, turning to Varten, who looked encouragingly at her.
What she’d overheard in the Goddess’s office had set her on this path. She’d been filled with a feeling that caused her to rush out and find Varten, to seek comfort from him.
She straightened, recognizing what it had been. “Fear,” she whispered, sotto voce.
“What?”
“Fear,” she repeated, louder this time. “I was afraid. Afraid of what the Goddess was planning, of Her inaction. Of what Her brother is capable of. Fear that my people will have nothing, that I … will have nothing.” She shook her head. “I have nothing. I never have,” she muttered.
“And have you had this fear for a long time?” Gilmer asked.
She met his gaze. “My entire life.”
The door of her home kicked down, her parents brought out screaming, branded traitors for being members of the Keepers of the Promise. Their execution. Zeli sold into servitude.
The darkened wagon that transported her to the capital where the True Father drained her Song. A sack over her head. Being tossed in a pit. A pair of lips pressed against her rigid ones. Fear, fear, and more fear had lived within her. Dogged her steps. It’s what had made her join the Sisterhood.
Hope had lived alongside it, kept her going through many difficult times, but the fear of starving, fear of being alone, that had motivated her even more.
Varten’s presence beside her was impossible to ignore. She was afraid of him, too—not of him exactly, but of what it would mean if she gave in to the feelings she had for him. What would happen when it had gone as far as it could, and then ended.
Fear was her fuel, Gilmer was right.
“But how
can giving up fear be a sacrifice?” she asked.
“Because it is precious to you.”
“But I’m not afraid on purpose. It just … is.”
He sat back on his cushion. “Do you breathe on purpose? Do you manually pump the blood through your veins? How is a sacrifice of blood or life any different?”
She shook her head, still perplexed.
“Does your fear make your life better and happier?” Gilmer asked.
She looked down to her lap.
“No?” he continued. “Then why have you not given it up before? Why have you allowed it to push your steps for eighteen years?”
“But I’m not in control of it,” she pleaded.
“Aren’t you?” Gilmer raised a brow. Beside him, Yllis frowned.
Zeli’s mind raced as she tried to wrap it around what Gilmer was saying. “But how do I get rid of it? How can I sacrifice my fear?”
“You let it go.” He held his hands up, wiggling his fingers slightly.
She pressed her lips together in frustration. “That’s—it doesn’t work like that.”
“Doesn’t it?”
The man was maddening. “You yourself said that human hearts are stubborn.”
“Yes, I did.” Gilmer’s eyes glittered as he leaned forward. “That is precisely why it’s a sacrifice. Because it is hard to do. Wouldn’t slicing your palm be easier? We believe our fears keep us safe—and it’s true they can warn us of danger, help us avoid an imminent attack. But you are not under attack every moment of every day.
“Your fear is not what gives you courage, your bravery exists outside of it. Certainly, you were brave to come here and seek aid for your people. But you did this in spite of your fear, not because of it. Imagine what you could do if you let it go. You would be unleashed.”
His voice held the promise of a wonderful world just on the edge of her grasp. It was one she wanted so desperately to reach.
Lay down your burdens, the acolyte standing on the corner had said. Rest your weary shoulders. She was tired of being constantly afraid. She wanted something else for herself.
Something within her shifted. She felt it loosen and break free just as the backs of her eyes began to sting. “I want that. I want to let it go.”
Gilmer smiled and it was full of warmth and love. In that moment, she completely understood why he would be worshipped. “Good. Then I have much to teach you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Go
forward
beyond
above.
If motivation grips you, keep moving.
Never stop.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
Kyara had stayed behind in the training space long after the others left. She was enjoying finally being able to wield her power with some dexterity. The wraith-like apparitions seemed to dissolve under the force of her wildcat avatar’s jaws.
Whatever spell Murmur had created for these training exercises increased in difficulty. The wraiths became multicolored and her task was to only destroy the orange ones, while leaving the other colors alone. A deep sense of satisfaction went through her after she’d completed all the levels of the exercise for the tenth time.
Once she had returned, fresh off the knowledge of Mooriah’s revelation, she had progressed rapidly. It was like a cork had been unstoppered inside her. Precision and mastery of her Song seemed second nature and she reveled in it.
Time might as well not exist in this spirit realm, but her body needed food. She quieted her Song and exited the vision, then stood and stretched her aching muscles, which had been seated in the same position for days. She could not wait to tell the others about her progress—but no one was around.
She didn’t sense Murmur or the other Cavefolk, with whom she’d had virtually no contact since arriving. Shrugging, she decided to just go out and meet Darvyn. Mooriah would probably be out there with Tana.
However, when she reached Darvyn’s campsite, no Earthsong-created fire hovered over the ground. There was no sign of Darvyn or anyone else.
Fear vibrated through her with the force of an avalanche, but she forced a measure of calm and focused on her inner sight. She couldn’t find Darvyn that way, but she should be able to spot the others. If they were nearby, that is.
She slumped with relief when a handful of glowing figures revealed themselves. Only they appeared to be inside the mountain? They certainly hadn’t been in the tunnel, which was the only entrance to this isolated ledge.
Confused, she paced around the campsite until she noticed a small cleft in the rock where a handful of tough grass clung. Several stalks were snapped, hanging lazily. She grabbed hold of the edge of the crack and levered herself up. A path came into view, out of sight from ground level. It was just a short climb up the crack to reach it and jump down.
She followed the path around a curve and discovered another plateau, larger than the ledge and without any protection from the steep drop down. However, here is where Fenix had apparently made his camp. She hadn’t seen him for days but now Darvyn, Mooriah, Ella, and the girls were all with him—and all wore stricken expressions. Ulani crouched on the ground, clutching her puppy, Raven, to her.
“What’s happened?” Kyara asked, stumbling upon their party. Darvyn rushed over to her and wrapped an arm around her. She didn’t realize how truly exhausted she was until she leaned against him and had him bear some of her weight.
“The True Father has attacked again. This time he released wraiths on the city.” It took a moment for her mind to register his words.
Stunned faces, some tear-streaked, looked back at her. Fenix’s expression was solemn. “He has found a manner of controlling the dead that the Physicks have not,” Fenix said. “They have returned and now do his bidding.”
He waved a hand in the air and a shimmering portal opened before him. This one reflected an image, like a looking glass, of the city of Rosira. In the strange apparition, columns of black smoke poured from a hole in the sky. Spirits dove into the bodies of the living and transformed them, these hosts then attacked other citizens.
Kyara moved forward, toward the portal, awestruck by both the violence and the magic by which she was seeing it. She reached toward the golden ripple, but Darvyn held her back.
“You cannot touch this,” Fenix said. “It would kill you.”
Kyara swallowed as the horror played out in the image. “Is this happening now?”
“It is over. The wraiths retreated. This looks like yet another test.”
“We’re too late,” Mooriah said. She stood off to the side with her arms crossed, eyes vacant. Fenix crossed to her as if to comfort her, but she shook her head and stepped away.
His head dropped and he appeared dejected. “Your uncle certainly has not changed in all these years.”
Kyara was certain she felt a shift in the very fabric of reality. “The True Father is your uncle? That means your mother is…”
Mooriah looked over at her sadly. “My mother is the Goddess Awoken, yes. I was cut from Her womb while She slept. Not quite dead, but not alive, either. I never met Her, but that is why I have this power.” She fisted her hand and lashed out, hitting a nearby scrubby bush with enough Nethersong to erase it from existence completely. Outside of the heart of the Mother, the avatars were not visible, but the effects of the power were. Only a small pile of char remained.
Fenix raised a hand and the air around Mooriah began to shimmer with a gold tinge. “You don’t need to throw a shield around me,” she seethed. “I am not out of control.”
“What do you mean that is why you have this power?” Kyara asked.
“When a mother dies in childbirth, the child’s Song may turn. Being born of death creates a powerful connection.” Mooriah’s eyes were stormy. “Mine was not dead, but neither was she alive.”
Cold took over Kyara’s limbs. “I didn’t know that.”
“We should be there now. We should have been there to help them fight.”
> “The attack has ended,” Fenix said. “You will be there the next time.”
Darvyn peered in the portal, watching the images unfold. “Jasminda and Oola were able to fight off some of it and then the wraiths just … left. The damage looks intense, but at least it’s done for now.”
Mooriah shook her head. “We must stop him before the dead take over the country and then this world.”
Kyara shivered. “And how, exactly, do we accomplish that? The simulations we’ve been training with are all well and good, but I’ve seen those things in action. They’re powerful, fast, ridiculously strong. How do we defeat them?”
“With Nethersong, we can banish the spirits from the bodies they take, freeing the hosts.” Mooriah leveled her gaze on Kyara.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
A flash of annoyance crossed the woman’s face. “Well, you must practice.”
“How?”
“Try it on me.”
Kyara blinked, surprised.
“Use your other sight. A wraith will have the Nether of the dead. Focus on it, but don’t draw it into yourself, push it away from the host. Go on, try.”
Frowning, Kyara sank into her other sight. Mooriah’s Nether shone bright as the sun. The reminder that she had invaded someone’s body, some unsuspecting person, rubbed Kyara wrong. Using her Song, she reached for the death energy in the woman and latched onto it. A sense of invigoration filled her, the temptation to draw the energy toward herself was great. But instead she pushed, and found it easy to do. The Nethersong did not belong in the body it was occupying and so forcing it out was almost trivial.
She opened her eyes to the Living World and gasped to see a body crumpled on the ground and a thick column of black smoke hovering in the air. Ella had her children in a death grip. Raven stood before the girls, hackles up and growling low, in protective mode. Mooriah’s spirit could enter any of them now.
But Fenix was whispering urgently to Darvyn. He led him over to Ulani and motioned for Darvyn to take hold of her shoulder. Ulani listened closely as Fenix kept talking in a low voice. Kyara’s gaze went back to the figure on the ground. While Mooriah still hovered menacingly, Kyara knelt and turned the body over.