The Shattered Sun

by Rachel Dunne

  But it didn’t sound like Etarro who asked, “What is it, Keiro?” It was Etarro’s voice, but for all that, there was little recognizable in it. If Anddyr’s sight hadn’t told him he was looking at Etarro, he never would have guessed it.

  Godson—Keiro?—said, “This man, a mage, came to us. And he carried this.” He held out Sooty toward the Twins.

  Etarro-who-wasn’t frowned, and stood up slowly to face them. He reached for the horse with one hand, and Anddyr noticed something strange about the other—there was no light glowing in his left hand, only the blue smoke Anddyr was used to seeing, as though the godliness didn’t extend to that hand. Anddyr could guess why, for Anddyr had helped to burn Fratarro’s hand, the real one that would have attached to his real body. Cappo Joros had said that would seal away part of Fratarro’s power forever, and it seemed as though he had been right.

  With his light-made hand, Etarro took Sooty from Keiro and held her gently around the middle. He stared at her, frowning deeper, and his face . . . flickered . . . Anddyr could think of no other way to describe it. The definition of his face faded, and the white light seemed to crack and fracture to reveal blue beneath. “This was mine . . .” Etarro-who-wasn’t murmured, and he looked away from Sooty to stare at Anddyr with his shifting eyes.

  Anddyr hardly dared even to breathe.

  “Brother?” Avorra called softly, only there was no denying it wasn’t Avorra, it was Sororra through and through. She stood as well, and touched her hand to Etarro’s shoulder.

  The blue cracks faded. Etarro’s face solidified once more, features smoothing and clarifying. He looked to Keiro and asked flatly, “Why did you bring me this?”

  The man called Keiro seemed taken aback. “You had this . . . or had one like it, in the hills. I thought . . .”

  “You’re mistaken.” Fratarro—for it was abundantly clear that this variant, at least, was not the Etarro Anddyr had known so well—opened his hand, and Sooty fell to the floor. It was not so terrible a height, for the god was only boy-tall, but Anddyr still let out an involuntary cry and lurched forward to pick her up where she sprawled. One of the big guardians grabbed him and dragged him back, but not before he’d got ahold of her leg. As Anddyr was hauled back to where he had been, he looked up to see that Fratarro’s face was flickering once more. Almost as though there were a battle raging within him, a fight between a mortal and a god.

  Keiro cleared his throat. “Very well. There’s still the matter of the mage himself, then. I’m told he took his own eyes, and he claims to have been called here.”

  “He’s a mage,” Sororra said, shrugging. “Put him with the others. We’ll find use for him.”

  “As you say,” Keiro murmured, but still he hesitated. It was because, Anddyr realized, Fratarro was staring at him—or, more accurately, was staring at Sooty, cradled in Anddyr’s arms.

  Anddyr’s hand shook, and it felt almost as difficult as taking his eyes had been, but he held Sooty out toward Fratarro. “You can keep her,” he offered, softly, and hopefully.

  The blue cracks grew and spread, widening, chipping away at the mask of light, and Anddyr thought with grim triumph, I found you.

  But then the pure light blazed brightly, brighter than before, and Anddyr yanked Sooty back protectively against his chest. The only blue was in his hand when Fratarro said, “What would I want with that?”

  The guardians escorted Anddyr quickly out of the room and back down the spiraling path, Keiro trailing them in silent thought. Anddyr, confident that the close-packed guardians would keep him from stepping over the path’s ledge into open air, spent a great deal of his time looking over his shoulder at Keiro, wondering why they called the man Godson. Not for the first time, he missed his true vision—he would like to know what the son of a god looked like.

  “Take him to the keepers,” Keiro said at length, his steps slowing as theirs went on. “They’ll find a place for him.”

  “Aye, sir,” one of the guardians grunted, and Anddyr was propelled ever farther downward. When he looked back again, the dim blue outline of Keiro still stood on the path where they’d left him, his face turned upward, unmoving.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  In the end, it was far easier than it should’ve been. The merra said it was the will of the Parents, that Metherra and Patharro had brought them all together to bring light back to the world. Rora thought that sounded like horse shit, but still, it was a little spooky the way the edges of all their plans lined up so nice, like a plate that’d broken into a few big chunks and hardly needed any figuring to piece back together. Even the part that’d frustrated Joros the most, Anddyr making off with his way of finding the Twins, wasn’t a real problem—Neira laughed and said she knew exactly where they were. All the different pieces got knit together like a quilt that looked mismatched until you unfolded it and saw it was actually a beautiful design.

  Maybe the reason she didn’t like it was because of how Vatri said the Parents had done it. Rora’d never liked the thought of gods mucking around in her life, poking her where they needed her to go. Gods had caused her enough trouble just by having people believe in ’em, and thinking babies should be punished for what the Twins had done centuries ago.

  “Then we’re agreed,” Neira said cheerfully. They’d all settled in the dining room, which had a long table and enough chairs for everyone to sit—though Neira had spent the whole conversation circling the room, one hand trailing against the wall in a constant soft scraping that’d made everyone a little twitchy. “We will find the Twins. We will weaken them. We will force them from their stolen bodies.” Since most of the others were doing their best not to look at Neira at all, Rora was probably the only one who saw the black smoke surge up around her in a quick cloud of glee. “We will kill them.”

  It all sounded so simple when she said it like that—laid it out like each thing was just one easy step, like each thing wasn’t near to impossible. She said it like you wouldn’t have to be mad to think they’d all get through it alive—or like she knew they wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter.

  “We’re agreed,” Joros said tightly. He wasn’t happy about his plan being twisted, wasn’t happy about not being the only one in the room with any idea of what to do, but it seemed like he’d accepted it. He’d chose the side fighting against the Twins, even if he’d grump about it not being exactly his way—he’d went on for a long while about how he thought they were risking everything by not destroying the Twins’ true bodies. Neira’d promised him that with their stitched-together plan, there would be nothing left of the Twins to return to those bodies. Seemed like Joros was willing to let that be for now—though Rora’d bet anything he was already planning exactly how he’d gloat if it turned out Neira was wrong.

  “We’re agreed,” Vatri echoed. She’d had all the same suspicions about Neira that she’d had about Joros in the beginning, and then some more when she learned Neira was an extra-dangerous kind of witch, but she seemed to like Neira’s plans better’n she’d ever liked any of Joros’s. And Neira had been working hard to keep any of her smoke from leaking out.

  “Agreed,” Scal rumbled next to her. It was the first thing he’d said, maybe since stepping into the courtyard. It was actually kind of comforting, knowing some things didn’t ever change.

  “Yes,” the Dogshead said tiredly. She’d listened to all the planning, and Rora still didn’t know if she was agreeing to help, or agreeing the plan sounded good so that everyone else would get out of her house and leave her people in peace.

  Everyone else at the table didn’t really matter. Everyone else was a follower, or a helper, people who’d do what they were told to do. There was a comfort, too, in knowing your place in the world. It was easier having someone make all the decisions for you—that way, when bad things happened, it wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done to stop it, because someone else had made all the choices.

  Joros stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against t
he floor. He leaned his fists on the table, even though there was no one to lean over, and looked around at everyone—or at least the ones who mattered. “There’s no sense in wasting any more time, then. The sooner we begin, the sooner we can finish this.”

  Tare got up from her chair and, after waiting for Neira to pass hand-scrapingly by, went over to twitch the curtains of one of the windows. “About an hour since moon-rise. Only a sliver, so there won’t be much light no matter when.”

  “My people need to rest,” Vatri said. “We’ve traveled a long way to get here. I wouldn’t force them into another hard travel so soon.”

  “They’re hardy stock,” Joros said.

  The big swordsman who sat on Vatri’s other side, him and Scal looking almost like a matched set, raised a hand toward Joros. “They’re people. And they’ve earned a rest, and explanations.” He looked over at Scal, who wasn’t looking at anything. “They deserve to know where the Nightbreaker’s path leads next, and decide for themselves if they wish to follow.”

  Rora could feel some of the others trying not to snort—Tare and Joros, mostly. They all kept it to themselves, let the arrogant swordsman have his fancy words and his fancy thoughts. Rora almost told him it’d be better if he just commanded his people. She’d heard from an ex-soldier who’d ended up in the Canals that that was how it was in the army. Officers shouting at you where you needed to go, and not once telling you why. You didn’t need to know, simple as that—all you were meant for was doing, and you didn’t tell a hammer why it was putting a house together, or a horse why it was carrying you. Same way back in the Canals, on contract nights when Rora’d gone up into the city to kill someone and collect her payment for it, they’d never told her why the person was supposed to die. Someone had said they needed to, and Rora was a knife who could do it. You didn’t tell a weapon why it was going to slit someone’s throat.

  Neira stopped her pacing, and stopped her hand dragging against the wall, and the sudden silence it left in the room was almost worse. She crouched down, staring at her hand, turning it front to back like her eyes could actually see it, like there was anything to even see. Tare, who was nearest by, took a few careful steps back toward the table. Everyone else tried not to look at Neira. “Two moon-rises from now, then,” Neira finally said, and it took Rora a second to realize the woman wasn’t just talking to her hand. “Will that be enough time for your people?”

  Vatri murmured that it would, and then everyone just stared at each other, meeting over but no one really sure how to end it. Joros managed it by turning, knocking over his chair, and leaving without a word. Aro followed after him—but no, Rora wasn’t thinking about Aro. She’d felt him staring sometimes, but she’d never looked.

  The merra and her matched set of fighters left, and Rora would’ve liked to talk to Scal—or probably talk at him—because she’d pretty much written him off as dead, and there was probably a good story getting from near dead to where he was now. But it seemed like Vatri had both men leashed like dogs, meaning Scal was still about as good as dead for all the chance Rora’d have to see him.

  Rora left, too, then, because there wasn’t anything left for her to do, and because she didn’t want to spend a minute more around Neira. There was a plan, and she’d play her part in it. The time up until that started was like waiting for a show to start—sitting in front of a shoddy stage, the whole reeking crowd gathered and bouncing and excited, but nothing happening. All there was was the waiting.

  The sooner it started, the sooner it’d be over.

  Outside, Rora climbed up the crumbly old wall and found a spot where the stone had crumbled just right, making a little cup on the outside of the wall while the inside of the wall was still intact. Rora was small enough she could sit down in the cup and, if she leaned right, not even the top of her head would be visible over the wall. No one inside would be able to see her, and if anyone went walking along the wall, they’d probably step right over her without knowing it. It was a good place. Rora sat there, lengths above the ground, legs dangling, and tried her damnedest not to think about anything. There were so many things that, if she started thinking through them, she’d know them, and if she knew certain things she’d never be able to go through with it all. Easier not to think, not to know—they’d told her what she needed to do, and she didn’t want to know why. A tool or a weapon didn’t want to know why.

  Tare had always been good at finding her.

  Rora heard the footsteps coming along the wall and shrank down farther into her cup, waiting for whoever-it-was to pass her over. No such luck, though—the feet stopped near her head, and Tare asked, “Have you talked to him?”

  “No.” Rora sighed.

  “You know you have to. He’s your brother.”

  Rora could remember back before they’d all come to this estate, after Rora’d gone back to the pack and Tare had cut off her ear for being a traitor—Aro had gone from Rora to Tare, urging them both to talk, to apologize for their wrongs, but they’d both had too much pride for that. It felt weird to have it flipped now—Tare going between her and Aro. It wasn’t quite the same, though. When it came to it, Tare was the second-closest thing Rora had to family, but she wasn’t blood. You could forgive almost-family a lot more and for a lot worse than you could actual family. Wounds went deeper when it came to blood. “I don’t have anything to say to him. And you don’t even like him anyway, you said so yourself. Why do you care?”

  Tare sat down on the wall beside Rora’s cup, bouncing her heels against the wall. “I did say that, and I won’t take it back. But he’s your brother. You betrayed the pack for him—twice over, maybe. Anyone who knows you two minutes knows you’d kill for him, and I know you have. Most folks in the Canals don’t have family of any sort—that’s why we make packs, because the only way to get family is to make it yourself. You can’t just give up your family and pretend he’s dead when he’s still right here, living and breathing.”

  “Maybe we make packs because it’s better to choose your own family than to stay with the one you got stuck with.” Rora didn’t want to talk about Aro anymore—it made her want to punch something, and it put that tight feeling behind her nose that meant tears if she didn’t do something to stop them. She cleared her throat to loosen up the tight feeling, and then asked, “You think the Dogshead’ll send people?”

  Tare sighed—maybe at Rora switching the topic, but maybe at the answer she had. “No,” she said, “I don’t think she will.”

  Rora just nodded. There was something hovering nearby—another thing she could keep from really knowing, so long as she didn’t think about it. Rora’d leave again; and Tare would stay. Just facts, without any thinking or feeling behind them.

  “Just because she doesn’t send anyone,” Tare said, “doesn’t mean some of our people won’t go with.” Rora twisted around and up to look at Tare. The moon didn’t give off much light to see by, but it was enough to tell that Tare was looking back at her. “Joros is a bastard, but he’s been right about a lot. It’s not right for Sharra to hold people back if they want to help . . . She’s terrified of losing anyone else, but it’s not living if we’re just surviving, and it sure as shit isn’t living if the world falls apart around us and we die without doing what we can to help.”

  It’d been a long time since Rora’d felt such a strong surge of hope. “Does that mean you’re coming? You’ll lead all the pack that wants to come with?”

  And Tare . . . Tare looked away, and the hope went out like a light. Tare didn’t need to say anything for an answer at that point, but she did anyway, saying softly, “She’s my family. I can’t leave her.”

  Rora nodded, because there wasn’t anything else to do, and looked back out over the dark lands.

  After a while, Tare reached out to squeeze her shoulder and say again, “You should talk to your brother.” Rora didn’t answer, and there wasn’t any other reason for Tare to stick around, so she left.

  Rora supposed it was fair, fo
r all the times she’d left Tare behind, and if those had hurt Tare as much as the grinding in Rora’s chest now, Rora could see why Tare’d been so angry at her for so long. At least Rora got an explanation. It wasn’t nothing, but for now, it sure felt like it.

  She was right about one thing, though—you didn’t leave your real family behind. It just gave Rora all the more reason not to talk to Aro: he’d left her for no good reason, left her chained up in a cellar and gone off to do gods-knew-what, and all that after he’d asked her to stuff down everything she wanted just so he could have what he wanted. The leaving was just the last crack in the wall that sent the whole thing crumbling down.

  Rora kicked her heels against the wall she sat on, and wondered what it’d take to make it crumble.

  Everyone else spent the next two days getting ready, but Rora didn’t have anything to get ready. All she owned were the clothes on her back and all the daggers Tare had given back to her. It was about as much as she’d ever owned—only thing that was unusual was having the time to prepare, so of course she didn’t need it when she had it.

  Rora waited for the time to pass, and made sure to avoid anywhere Aro was.

  And finally the waiting was over. It was finally time to leave, and time to take the first step to being done with all of this, one way or another.

  The Dogshead holed up in her room, couldn’t stand to see more of her people leave her, some of the same people leaving her again, but Tare stood at the gate wishing luck to all the pack who’d chose to leave. She gripped Rora’s forearm with one hand and squeezed her shoulder with the other, and she forced a smile when she said, “You’ve managed to come back every other time you left. You’re damned hard to get rid of.”

  Rora tried to smile, too, but couldn’t really manage it. She left, walking out into the wild world touched by the barely there light of the sliver moon. All the others around her—the pack, and Scal’s folk, who still stayed separate because trust didn’t come easy in the always-night—were as quiet as Rora, maybe wrapped up in their own thoughts about leaving, too.