by Kova, Elise
Vi was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to help him, but she didn’t know where to begin.
“I’m sorry… But I don’t know.” She held the watch tighter. “This was a gift. It was my mother’s—not even mine until months ago.”
He looked away, toward her window. Vi wondered if he could see her room. For her, it was only him. Wherever he was remained hidden.
“Maybe she found it somewhere?” Vi suggested, taking a step forward. The light around her hand flickered again and his form almost blinked from existence.
“That would be quite impossible, as I have not stepped foot beyond Risen since I was a child.” There was a note to the longing in his voice that resonated with her own. She knew well what it was like to be trapped somewhere, tortured by things she could read and see through her maps but never reach.
“Where is Risen?” she asked softly.
“Meru. You know it as the Crescent Continent.” He turned back to her and once more Vi found herself transfixed by his ears.
“Are the elfin common on Meru?” Vi asked.
“You could say that.”
“How about vague answers? Are those common?” Vi frowned in frustration.
“That may only be me.”
The magic flickered once more. He blinked out of existence and Vi stretched her arm further, as if she could push more magic out that way. Taavin re-solidified, looking back to her hand.
“You’re losing strength.”
“I can manage,” Vi insisted. There was so much more she wanted to talk with him about.
“You’re lying.”
“And you’re a little annoying.” Vi didn’t expect him to smile at that, but he did. The shortest upturn of his mouth.
“Rest, Vi. If you’ve managed this connection now, it will be there still for you to continue bothering me with when you’ve replenished your energy.”
“I haven’t done anything to you—” Vi paused, then quickly corrected herself, “—until recently.”
He looked at her for a long moment. The argument Vi expected never came.
“You’re not what I expected you’d be,” he said softly, thoughtfully. His gaze was almost… tender. How could the same person look at her with equal measures compassion, skepticism, and pain? It was a mix of contrasts that shouldn’t fit together.
“I suppose it’s mutual,” Vi whispered in reply. “I didn’t expect you at all.”
They simply stood, staring, for a long moment. In him, Vi saw a portal to a world she’d barely imagined. She saw truth, and secrets of the universe she hadn’t fathomed weeks ago. And she couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in her.
“Does our deal still stand?” Vi asked finally. “Even though I have this supposed token of yours… will you teach me how to use this magic if I find the apexes for you?”
He paused for a long moment. Briefly, her heart raced in fear that he was going to say no. But then…
“Yes, it still stands. If anything it’ll be more effective now that you’ve mastered this much.” He looked away again. “Besides, it’s not as if we have any choice. We have roles to play, you and I.”
That sense of duty was one Vi knew better than any other. “Taavin, I—”
“Rest now, Vi. Summon me again when you have the strength.”
It was as if her magic had been waiting for his permission. The threads, worn down like her energy, snapped, and the light disappeared into the darkness. Vi staggered back, collapsing on the bed and staring at where he had been—staring at her hand and what she’d done.
* * *
She summoned him the next day.
Immediately after her lessons, Vi feigned a stomach ache and had a simple dinner sent to her room. On hearing she was supposedly ill, Ginger tittered about, but Vi finally sent her away too. She waited for a good hour before holding out her hand and uttering the words.
The light appeared before her, flickering at first and becoming stable. Vi remained focused on every line, ensuring that the slowly swirling circles around her fingers stayed in place—close to her skin, just as he’d instructed. Only when she felt the magic stabilize did she look to her visitor.
“You seem more confident with that.”
“Me? Confident with magic? You have the wrong girl.”
“I’m just as surprised as you, to see one of the Dark Isle using Lightspinning. Though I must remind myself you have your contraband book that should’ve never made it across the Shattered Isles.”
“If my book upsets you so much, why don’t you come and get it back?” Vi retorted. The jab hit harder than she’d intended.
“If only I could.”
Taavin looked away and Vi studied his profile. Other than the scar that ran from his left eye, down his cheek, his face was as polished as a sculpture. Though she was certain the light that constantly outlined him contributed to the ethereal illusion.
“Why can’t you?” she dared to ask. He’d said he’d never left his city the last time they spoke and Vi had heard volumes lingering under the statement. Until now, however, they’d only ever spoken of practical things—magic and visions. This was the first time she was making an intentional effort to venture beyond the basic framework that had brought them together.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” Her lips curled up into a smile, hopefully encouraging and not mocking.
“My position, as the Voice of Yargen, means I am to remain by the flame at all times. I couldn’t leave if I wanted.” And he did want to. Of that Vi was certain.
“Trapped by your position…” Vi looked at the swirling magic around her fingertips. “That’s one thing I think I understand better than most.”
For the first time in her life, Vi shared the sentiment with someone and did not have them immediately disagree. He didn’t try to point out all she had in the power of her station. Nor did he chastise her for the feeling of entrapment. He merely stood in quiet camaraderie.
“What does the Voice of Yargen do?” Vi asked. “Keep this flame burning?”
Taavin took a small step back, as if surprised by the question. She watched as his guards slid back into place—mentally battening the hatches against her once more.
“No… the flame of Yargen has been burning since the goddess last left this world. It is a remnant of the goddess herself—and her power. Through it, her chosen voice hears the words of power Lightspinners use, as well as her guidance for the mortal realm she created.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “At least, that is what I am supposed to do.”
“I see…” Vi murmured. He couldn’t hear the goddess through this flame. Vi knew it by his expression and reaction alone. But something prevented her from saying so outright. Perhaps what stopped her was the keen knowledge that pointing it out would only bring him extra pain. She didn’t want to be torture to him, intentionally or otherwise. So Vi shifted the topic slightly. “What about the champion? You always bring up the voice and the champion together.”
“Because the champion is Yargen’s other chosen mortal. Though… there has not been one since the last time Raspian walked this earth.”
Vi suppressed a shudder at what she knew now was the name of the dark god she’d seen the zealots worshiping in her last vision. “Why do you think I am the champion?”
“Because a traveler told me of our meeting.”
Traveler. Vi stilled at the word. It couldn’t possibly be… “This traveler, was it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
There was no way it was the same traveler who had spoken to Sehra. No possible way. That meeting had to have been more than twenty years ago. Yet was it truly just chance she’d heard of two different mysterious travelers with knowledge of Yargen so close together?
“What did she tell you?” Vi dared to ask.
“That my visions would reveal the locations of the apexes of fate—landmarks on the path of a dying world where my destiny overlaps with the champion’s. That the cha
mpion holds the key to fueling the flame once more, and making sense of Yargen’s will.” Vi snorted, then laughter exploded from her mouth. Taavin blinked out of sight for a second and she quickly re-drew the glyphs for narro and hath in her mind, securing them back around her hand. A frown crossed his mouth. “Just what is so amusing?”
“I can see why you hate me so much. I haunt your dreams and then, when you finally meet me, I’m absolutely useless.” Vi gave another self-deprecating laugh. When it came to magic, it seemed nothing she did would ever be enough, in any direction. There would always be someone she was letting down.
Her laughter subsided as she became keenly aware of Taavin’s stare. Vi turned up her face to look at him, waiting for his retort. The silence stretched on, and his eyes traced her features what must have been a thousand times.
Vi forced a smile and ignored the tension. She didn’t want it to be there. There wasn’t time for it. But before she could think of another substitution for discussion, he spoke.
“I never said you were useless.”
Vi swallowed. His words tightened her chest and stomach. Some kind of relief punched her in the gut, leaving her breathless and stinging in a way that was foreign to her. Was she really so desperate for affirmation that she was doing all right?
“Well, perhaps I can continue to prove I’m not by helping you find the next apex? Do you have any ideas from your visions?” She resisted asking if she was present in these visions.
“I’m still working to discern their meaning.”
“What do you have so far?”
“It makes little sense…” he murmured, pacing back and forth twice.
“You have someone to be a sounding board off of,” Vi reminded him. Given how he acted, and all he’d said, Vi suspected it was a relatively new development for Taavin.
“I doubt it’ll be much clearer for you.”
“Will you just let me help?” She threw her hands up in the air and the magic disappeared. “Oh, by the Mother,” Vi muttered, holding out her hand again. She took a breath, finishing a string of curses, and then uttered, “Narro hath.” Taavin reappeared. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” He tilted his head slightly. When he did so, the bottom of his hair nearly touched his shoulder.
“I’ve been told I can be when something piques my interest.”
“I’m glad the end of the world has inspired your curiosity.” Vi opened her mouth to say that he was the one who had, but before she could, Taavin saved her from herself.
“I have seen a room, dark, two women standing before a single flame. Roses and wheat…”
“Not enough to go off of,” Vi reluctantly agreed with his earlier sentiment. “At least for that one. Any others?”
“In my dreams I have also witnessed a throne room—covered in the crystallized fragments of Yargen’s magic. A dying man who was tainted by touching godly power with mortal hands.”
Vi sighed softly, wishing it were a clearer lead. “That sounds like something more on the Crescent Continent than here.”
“It is unlike any throne room I’ve ever seen on Meru.”
“Is that all?”
“Do you know anywhere called Eye-owe?”
“Eye-owe,” Vi repeated, then shook her head. “It doesn’t ring a bell. What’s it like?”
“Something about a temple, perhaps?”
Vi thought back to all her maps. She certainly didn’t recall any temples named Eye-owe. But, given the North’s opinions toward marking their ruins, she couldn’t exactly rule it out.
“One more has been clear and reoccurring,” he continued when it was clear she had nothing more to add. “Though I doubt it’ll be any clearer for you. I see two women by a statue. I see a tall tree, towering above them.”
“That statue…” Vi shifted to the edge of her bed, an idea dawning on her. “What does it look like?” She knew what he was about to say before he said it. Vi could already see it with perfect clarity.
“One woman standing, the other kneeling, holding—”
“An axe,” Vi finished for him.
“What?”
She pushed off the bed, starting for the door. “See? It was a good thing you told me. Because I know exactly where that last apex is.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Mother Tree, oldest of all the trees in the North, was at the center of the fortress. It was into this tree that Dia—a star from the gods—had fallen. On her descent, she had become mortal. Under its leafy boughs was where the Mother was said to have gifted her the axe.
This had to be the location of the next apex.
It was easy to identify it by its height and overall grandeur. But it was harder than one would think to get to. She had to spiral around smaller—but by no means small—trees, go up to go down, and spend nearly a half hour getting to the end of what should’ve been a five-minute walk, had she been able to go straight to the center. It was made worse by sneaking around in the dead of night, constantly looking over her shoulder to ensure she was alone.
But she saw no one and now the final barrier to her goal was before her. Vi was almost breathless from her haste. She stood on the other side of a living wall. Groundbreakers had woven saplings together to make a beautiful fence. Beautiful… and without any sort of clear entrance unless one had the magic to manipulate the trees to unweave themselves.
Vi looked up and around cautiously. The sensation of someone watching her was back. But Vi was certain it was nothing more than paranoia. She’d heard no footsteps and had seen no eyes peering at her through the darkness.
She stared through the woven barrier to the base of the Mother Tree. Shaded in an alcove was a ceremonial room that Vi had only been in a handful of times. Once for the blessings of Yargen to be placed on Ellene shortly after her birth, then twice every year since, for solstice rituals. The Mother Tree was a highly sacred place; Vi didn’t blame them for keeping people, or wandering princesses, out most other days of the year.
The bark of the natural barrier bit into her palms as she gripped it tighter. The room would be opened soon for the upcoming solstice; she could wait and not risk discovery now. But Vi doubted she could find a time to confidently come alone during the handful of days it was open to all in the fortress. Now she was certain to have time alone to see her vision, and speak with the man who came after.
Furthermore, Vi continued to try to rationalize her decision, she was a Child of Yargen too, wasn’t she? That meant it would be acceptable for her to trespass on the most sacred space in the North. Not trespass, she couldn’t trespass as a child of Yargen, right? Vi quickly tried to tally up the pros and cons in her head, before pushing the thoughts away. Rationalized or not, her path ahead was clear. She wasn’t going to back away now, not when she was this close.
“You understand, right?” Vi whispered to the Mother above, looking up toward the heavens. Nothing changed and Vi took that as tacit permission to begin climbing the woven barrier.
Luckily, its lace-like weave made plenty of gaps and spaces for hand- and footholds as she climbed. From the ground, it looked much shorter than at its top, and Vi employed great care in swinging her legs over and starting down the other side. Thankfully, she’d spent a lifetime trying to keep up with Groundbreakers in the jungles. Tree climbing was easily a strong-suit of hers, and Vi moved with swift confidence.
Feet back on the ground, Vi raced underneath the arch that led to the hallowed room that very much mirrored Sehra’s throne room. Except in place of a throne at the center, a barely-visible sculpture of two women stood. One was kneeling, her long braids nearly touching the ground—Dia, the forest star—and the other was said to be the Mother, imparting an axe upon her to carve out a new civilization from the raw earth she’d created for all mankind.
“A giant tree, a statue of a woman holding an axe.” This had to be the apex Taavin had seen.
Vi held out her hand and readied herself. Whatever the vision showe
d her this time, she would be ready. She could handle it. At the very least, she wouldn’t shout in horror and alert everyone to her presence. Good or bad, she was trained to be an Empress, and should not startle so easily.
Her eyes were wide. She could not look away if she tried. Yet the vision that possessed her was different from all the others. It was clearer, sharper. Now it was as if time itself flowed through her, posing her at its edge to peer through its secrets.
The world around her shifted. Days turned to nights. Stars spun across the sky. Flowers blossomed, saplings grew into trees, and vines knotted further over the remains of a civilization progressing quickly toward decay.
The fortress around her took shape and quickly changed, time and again. The city of Soricium grew and retreated with the seasons becoming more and more scarce—fading into a grayish stasis—as the trees withered, decayed, and exposed a sky larger than any Vi had ever seen, unbroken by treetops, to Shaldan’s barren earth.
Finally, the spinning top of the progression of time stopped on a desolate landscape.
Vi looked out over a barren field. Rubble lay like tombstones around the rough stumps of trees that looked as though they had been shredded to toothpicks. The great giants of Shaldan—trees that had stood from the dawn of time—lay on the ground in charred husks.
The Mother Tree was little more than sawdust.
She could almost taste the ash in her mouth, bitter and still smoldering from what looked like the aftermath of a battle that far exceeded even the horrific stories of the siege on Soricium during the War for the North. The smell of rot somehow reached her and brought Vi to gagging, as the remnants of what could be called men and women had been left as carrion for the birds.
Each corpse was contorted into angles of agony. They twisted with open mouths, locked in an eternal scream. Their eyes were wide and absent of all color—gone completely white and glossy. Deep trenches cut into their skin from where they had clawed at the white and rocky parts that coated their bodies between veins of still-glowing red.