by L. Penelope
There was no way she would be able to control the type of power the Breath Father said that the stone held. It already looked like it was killing her. Kyara grabbed the girl with her free arm. They both sank to the ground, Tana still attached to the death stone.
Tears filled Kyara’s eyes. She looked up at Darvyn whose expression was full of confusion.
Her mouth opened, wanting to say something, but not wanting that something to be Good-bye.
In the end, she said nothing at all. Merely unwrapped her arm from around Tana and grabbed the death stone herself.
The last thing she saw was the man she loved, staring at her in shock as Kyara left the Living World.
* * *
Wherever she was felt like the stillness at the heart of the Mother. Kyara was disconnected from her body in the same way she had been inside the mountain, her awareness was now fixed on a glut of power surging just beyond her fingertips. Tana’s presence was strong just outside the edge of Kyara’s vision, and this power, this newly released Song of a long-dead Nethersinger was a formless entity trying to attach itself to the girl.
Kyara knew instinctively she had to wrench it away. She could not allow the burden to fall to a child. She reached for the wildcat tethered to her power.
“Find her dragon,” she whispered, and the beast took off into the darkness.
The ancient Song was coalescing, its mist of energy taking on an avatar form and reshaping itself into some kind of large fish. The animal floated in the darkness, needing no water, but looking far deadlier than she realized a fish could be. Sharp teeth elongated as the creature opened its mouth. A shark.
As Kyara set her sights on it, a storm began. Chilly winds battered her, attempting to separate flesh from bone, even if she had neither in this in-between place. Some instinctive knowledge took hold and she knew she had to capture and control this avatar in order to master its attached Song. It needed to become a part of her.
She was shaken like a rag doll by an intemperate toddler, smashed across invisible rocks by vicious waves. She could stand her ground no longer and sank to her knees, fearing that this wouldn’t work at all. The Breath Father had been right and this was all too much for her.
He’d said she would need to be worthy, otherwise the death stone would be more dangerous than an army of wraiths. The battle to control the beast before her was certainly more intense than fighting the dead had been.
Exhaustion made her sag, but a cry in the distance—Tana’s cry—caused her to rally. She braced herself, pulling forth the dregs of her energy and tried again. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she finally wrenched control of the ancient Song, bringing the creature to submission.
From out of the darkness her wildcat raced back, with Tana’s dragon avatar on its heels. Then, shockingly, Mooriah’s raptor plunged down—all three racing straight for Kyara. She braced herself for impact, squeezing her eyes shut.
An icy coldness overtook her that was soon chased away by an unendurable heat. Whatever was happening felt like it was tearing her apart.
And then the storm ended.
She gasped, opening her eyes to a new vision before her. An avatar hovered in place, one with a wildcat’s paws and head, raptor talons, the body of a dragon, and the shark’s tail and fin. The cat head opened its jaws wide and let out a roar. Fire escaped from its throat, illuminating the gloom. Kyara nearly stumbled from the deafening bellow and the heat.
This was a chimera avatar made of all the Songs of the Nethersingers linked, combined into one, and under Kyara’s control.
She really was a goddess of death.
The beast lowered its head, glowing eyes regarding her with a modicum of respect. Then it winked out of existence, back to the fight in the real world. Kyara was only vaguely controlling it now, relying on her subconscious and the avatar’s instinct for its mission and penchant for gobbling up Nethersong.
Tana’s cries sounded from farther away. Kyara gathered herself and stumbled in their direction.
Darkness closed in around her, but as she moved toward the sound, a powerful light source bloomed. She felt more than saw it—or rather, she sensed its energy. As her awareness of it grew, it lit her from within and Tana became visible, not so far away at all. She stood turning in circles, shouting for her father.
“Papa! Where is he?” she screamed.
Kyara took a step toward her, but the girl slid away. “I’m going to bring him back,” Tana said, tears streaming from her eyes. “Like how you brought back Queen Jasminda. I need to bring my papa back.”
That’s when Kyara realized they were in the World After. Was that where the heart of the Mother had lain all this time? It was a quick thought. Even quicker came the notion that Tana’s father’s spirit was already in the Living World. He wasn’t here any longer to be brought back. She didn’t get a chance to put this into words before Tana raced away, disappearing into the darkness.
Kyara gave chase, calling her name, but the World After did not follow normal rules, and as quickly as the girl had appeared, she was gone again. Kyara was only a few steps behind, but still lost her in the gloom. There were no footsteps to follow, the sound of her voice died out, and no path or trail made itself known. The girl had disappeared and Kyara was alone.
Only she wasn’t. There was the light—or rather, the sense of light. And a voice calling her name. She stopped at the sound, so familiar.
Standing very still, she listened to the music of a child’s voice—not Tana, but a girl of her age. A girl long dead. A girl she had killed.
Out of the surrounding shadows a small figure took shape.
“Ahlini?” Her friend glowed from within, the same as Kyara did, only her glow was much brighter. She was the source of this light that didn’t seem to exist, but did.
And unlike when she’d seen Ahlini before in those dreams, the girl’s eyes were clear. The dark brown irises meeting white. No longer blacked out by Nethersong—she no longer looked like one of Kyara’s victims.
“Ahlini, why are you here?”
Her friend smiled beatifically. “I’m here to show you the Light.”
As she spoke, the darkness lifted, and the light emanating from Ahlini became a brightness that overtook everything. It was as if Kyara was inside of something bright and beautiful and peaceful. Inside peace itself.
“What’s happening? What is this place?”
“This is the Flame,” her friend replied.
There was no heat, it was very unlike a flame, but Kyara felt the truth of the statement all the same.
“The Flame is the Light,” Ahlini continued. “‘The one who walks in the Dark will embrace the Light.’”
A prophecy from another time—Kyara barely remembered it. Others emerged from the darkness, people she recognized. Her victims, only they were no longer angry or pleading. They no longer bore the signature mark of her power. Their eyes were bright and now they were at peace.
“Am I … am I dead? Did I fail?”
Ahlini shook her head. “No. You still have work to do. You must wield the death stone’s power.”
“But the Breath Father told me that the death stone was too much for me. That I shouldn’t use it.”
Ahlini’s serene face rippled and her body transformed into the wispy air-like image of the old man Kyara had known as the Breath Father.
“I told you its power was limited only by your imagination. You imagined the worst, and at the time it was what you needed to believe.” His voice was once again the whisper of wind on tree branches. He changed back to Ahlini’s small form.
“Wait! Has it been you this whole time? Was Ahlini never here?”
The childish voice spoke again. “I am one with the Flame. In the Flame, there are no individuals, only the collective. We are no one and everyone.”
Ahlini changed again. She was the merchant’s wife who had helped her after Kyara escaped the glass castle. Travelers she’d met along the road. Men and women who had been
standing too close and been caught up in the release of her power. And then, once again, her friend.
Kyara was confused, but part of her also understood. “Why am I here? We’re about to be destroyed. The True Father is winning.”
“You are here, because you can control the dead. Use the power you have been given. You are stronger than he is, but you need help, warriors to fight. Here, you may find them.”
The people who had gathered around her multiplied in number swiftly. They were her victims, but more than just those. She recognized the wizened face of the ulla of the harem’s cabal. The ul-nedrim guards who had been kind to her. A woman with a familiar face stood near the front of the growing crowd. One with a face so similar to Kyara’s that she gasped. Some internal knowledge told her this was her mother.
Next to her stood a tall Lagrimari man. Her father, her real father—she didn’t know either of their names, had never truly met them, but recognized them all the same. Not far away was a man who closely resembled Mooriah, one of her children? One of Kyara’s great-grandparents? There were many more coming forward who felt familiar. Both Lagrimar and Elsiran.
A red-haired woman with eyes like Varten’s and Roshon’s stepped forward, too. Their mother.
“I thought that everyone was consumed by the Flame and reborn to different lives?” Kyara asked.
“We are all and we are one,” Ahlini said. “We return here again and again. From death, life. We will be your army, we are ready to follow your command. Will you lead us?”
Kyara took a deep breath, staring at all the faces known and unknown. The Light around her extended on to infinity. There were more ancestors gathered here than she could fathom. What exactly were they? Beings? Spirits? Ghosts? She wasn’t sure. Warriors she’d called them, that seemed like as good a name as any.
“Warriors. Please help me. Come and fight for the living.”
She felt their acquiescence, their desire and their motivation. And then the archway appeared, visible in this field of Light just as it was in the darkness. The way back to the Living World was there.
Confident that her army was following, she walked through the archway.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Without sorrow, grief would be a passing
stain. An old scar with no power to cause
pain. But sorrow’s companion is
misery. Its company is damaging,
and woe is she who lets it settle and stay.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
Darvyn wasn’t sure if he should touch Kyara or not. She lay crumpled on the ground, hands entwined with Tana’s. If they were somehow working Nethersong in this state, then he knew he couldn’t interfere—Kyara was one of the only people in this world who could do him real damage with her abilities. But seeing her motionless on the ground like that made him uneasy.
And so he waited. It seemed that the battle was at a stalemate for the moment. Aside from the attack on Mooriah, the True Father had yet to give a command to his amassed troops. He must still be locked in verbal warfare with his sister, the way they’d been when Darvyn had left them at the port.
Kyara had only been down for a moment before she stirred, and Darvyn’s heart began beating again. She rose, looking up at him. Her gaze was somehow different. Something new was there—something more purposeful than he’d seen in her for a long while.
She appeared shell-shocked, but stood on stable legs. Tana, however, remained on the ground, unconscious. Kyara frowned down at the girl, a look of regret overtaking her. Then she firmed her jaw and faced the wraiths, who were still in a holding pattern. But not for long.
A dark spot in the sky grew in size as it drew closer. Darvyn’s mouth dried as he saw the True Father approaching, flying through the air. Had he already taken Oola’s or Jasminda’s Songs? Guilt assailed him, he shouldn’t have left, but he’d had to get to Kyara.
The True Father hovered, looking smug as he observed his army. He had every right to be, there was only Darvyn, whose Song had no effect on these new kind of wraiths, Kyara, and a dozen Raunians against thousands of the dead.
“The time has come.” The floating man’s voice echoed over the cemetery. “I will end this war once and for all. Leave no survivors but the Singers.”
A screeching sound rang out and the wraiths lost their vacant expressions and snapped to attention. Darvyn clenched his fists. He’d been a soldier practically his whole life, fighting uphill the entire time and he would fight for as long as he could.
But Kyara caught his eye and shook her head slightly, the start of a sad smile on her lips. He frowned. “Embrace the Light,” she whispered.
Overhead, the portal, dark and ominous, suddenly cleared of the spirits that were still pouring forth. The shimmering, dark tear in their world was pierced by a bright light.
Blinding and beautiful, it speared his retinas so that Darvyn could barely make out what was happening. But the solid beam began to quickly splinter into pieces. Arcs, like the Earthsong lightning Yllis had taught them to create, shot out of this new light and down toward the ground of the cemetery.
It was as though the sky had opened up and the darts of light rained down, just as the spirits had moments before. But there was much, much more light than there had been darkness.
Each ray hit a wraith and when it made contact, tiny explosions of light completely erased Darvyn’s vision. He shut his eyes. Behind his lids the radiance intensified. It was like staring at the sun at noon. Brightness creeped into the corners of his eyes and he covered them with his hands to keep it out. Still it burned, not true pain, just an uncomfortable sensation that left him feeling buzzy. He winced, ducking his head into his elbow to avoid it.
And then it was done.
He actually felt the force retreat and blinked his eyes open, waiting for the afterburn to dissipate so that he could see again. What he finally saw made his jaw drop.
No wraiths. No spirits. The afternoon was gray again, the normal mundane clouds were pregnant with real rain. The cemetery was littered with corpses. Some recognizable as people, newly deceased. Some mere skeletons, with wisps of hair sticking to their skulls.
They had fallen where they’d stood; bones and decaying flesh stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Overhead, the portal was still there, a hole torn in the sky, but nothing emerged from it. Silently, it held the potential for doom, but for now remained empty. The True Father was nowhere to be seen.
Kyara stood beside Darvyn, gripping his hand in her own. He wrapped her in an embrace, squeezing her tight to him. He wasn’t certain if it was relief he felt or more apprehension. But he forced himself into this present moment. Pulled himself back from Kyara to look at her face.
Her breathing was rapid, she had yet to come down from the adrenaline of battle—of whatever she’d just been through. But she held him tight and brushed her lips against his.
They kissed, grateful to be alive. While the hole in the sky looked down on them.
* * *
The ferocity of the wraiths that the True Father had unleashed upon the Earthsingers was even greater than before. Jasminda spun out of the way as a chunk from a ship hurled toward her.
The group of Raunian fighters engaged in hand-to-hand combat, forming a protective circle around Jasminda, Oola, and Yllis, but swarms of wraiths slipped through. The Raunians were quickly overwhelmed and began to fall, one by one.
Jasminda worked on healing them, in between fending off the volley of attacks, but splitting her focus was dangerous. Even with the massive power boost from the obelisk, pinpointing the Earthsong attacks so as not to hit one of their allies was difficult. As soon as she cast a wraith away from her, two more took its place. Her attention was drawn everywhere at once just to maintain her position, much less make any headway.
She gasped for breath and deflected a bombardment of wickedly sharp iron fence posts, when a sudden brightness in the sky stole her focus. Darts of light flooded her vision; she squeez
ed her eyes shut when it became too painful to keep them open. She couldn’t say how long it lasted, but when the light receded and she opened her eyes, the wraiths were gone.
Dozens of bodies lay littered across the ground, transformed back into their original hosts. Mostly Elsirans, but some foreign-born residents of Portside had been caught by the spirits. Almost all were alive, but badly injured.
After another nervous glance at the sky, Jasminda hurried forward to heal them. Broken bones and internal injuries took up the most of the cases. She worked quickly, trying to get each person past the critical stage, knowing there would be others who could take the victims the rest of the way. An Elsiran woman had a severe head injury that was worrisome. Jasminda took an extra minute to ensure there wasn’t further damage she’d missed, when a groaning man stole her attention.
He rolled over onto his back and Jasminda stumbled. Zann Biddell lay there, bleeding from his nose and mouth. She finished her work on the woman and moved to him. Crouching down, she assessed his damage. His eyelids fluttered before opening.
“Master Biddel, can you hear me?”
He moaned and held a hand up to his head.
“Be still, I’m going to see to your head.”
“No.” He batted her away. “Don’t want any of your … witchcraft.”
Jasminda sighed. “Very well then, there are others I can help.” Annoyingly, Oola was not seeing to the other victims, instead She was staring up at the dark portal still hanging in the sky like a reverse moon.
“I will die … true to my principles,” Zann Biddell said, breath rasping. “My people will know … that I was not moved.”
Jasminda stood, her legs wobbly. “You will die a fool. And your people will not know anything. You think I will make you a martyr?” She shook her head and moved on to the next person needing aid.
“Tell them,” Biddell wailed, his voice growing thin. He coughed blood and his body shuddered. “Tell them … please.”