CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Is gold more precious than
a heart filled to overflowing?
What price can you give to intangible
mysteries of love?
Only thieves assign its value.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
“That was irresponsible and reckless!” Nikora screams when you awaken from the viewing trance, energy sapped, senses dulled. “Your experiment has done nothing but waste more of Dahlia’s precious flesh!” Spit flies from her mouth to hit you, causing you to flinch. You raise a finger to clear it from your brow.
You have no time for her hysterics, but you shake off your exhaustion and focus on her foolishness. “Nikora.” Your voice is calm and the pitiless tone you use makes her freeze, mid-diatribe. “Look at all my experiment has accomplished. We sent a small reconnaissance force that gave us valuable information about our enemy.”
“Elsira is of no concern to us.” Nikora spat. “They are your enemy. Our enemy is death itself. And your assurances that this trial would yield some benefit have fallen flat.”
Breathing deeply so you do not reach for her neck and begin to squeeze, you steeple your fingers on the table before you, ignoring their bluish tinge. The fire in the parlor burns fiercely at your back, but everything here is still far too cold.
“Would you rather lose your own men while learning how to manage the wraiths long enough to get information out of them, or lose foreigners who, as you say, are of no concern? I am interested in efficiency. We have effectively killed two sparrows with one arrow, that is true allyship. I am upholding my end of our bargain, and I consider this trial run a grand success.” You offer a smile that once dazzled your followers, but she merely narrows her eyes.
Calling the wraiths again to go to Elsira was a stroke of genius on your part; of course it was pure, unadulterated luck that had the portal from the World After appear in the heart of the palace. Certainly the place had been on your mind, and all magic responds to intention. It had not been conscious choice but a well-timed boon.
The energy you expended on the spell to watch the action play out has your lids feeling heavy. But tiredness is weakness and so you straighten, forcing your body to submit to your will. It helps that through the viewing trance you witnessed the girl queen and your sister battling the wraiths, struggling, and against only three. The revelation helps strengthen you.
“I think he has a point,” Cayro, Nikora’s second-in-command adds. You all sit at a rough-hewn table that looks just shy of collapse in the corner of Nikora’s sitting room. Cayro is farthest from the fireplace and cloaked in shadow. “We do not have the manpower to spare. Let us sacrifice others while we hone our abilities.”
She grits her teeth and stares at the man then back at you. “Hear me, Eero, and hear me well. I will not allow you to derail my mission. If you are my ally and are to continue enjoying the benefit of my hospitality, then your aims and mine must be in sync. I know who you are and what you are capable of. You are not fooling me.”
She motions sharply to Cayro and they both rise and leave. Once they are gone, you give in to the smirk pulling at your lips. You once met a wild dog like her, deep in the desert. It bared its teeth and growled, believing that it had some sort of power. But its blood soaked the sand just like any other creature that ever crossed you.
Imagining the feel of her neck between your hands is sweet.
For the next few days, you run the words of the incantation used to summon the wraiths over and over in your mind. It is a sloppy and indelicate thing. You had again failed to control the wraiths during that trial run. The creatures had been just as vicious and mindless as ever, their goal only to destroy.
Never mind that these spirits had no quarrel with Elsirans at all—it was the Physicks, after, who were responsible for their deaths with their Nethersong harvesting, you’d discovered—but their vengeance was stronger than their reason and fate had directed that energy toward your old enemy. You sensed, deeper in the portal, spirits who had kept more of their minds, better candidates for Nikora’s silly interrogations, but they had not come forward. The ones eager to return to the Living World were full of anger and desire for revenge. Even among the living these types of men could be dominated easily. What you will need if you are to free yourself and regain your rightful place is a way to call upon the wraiths and control them with finesse, the way you do the Wailers.
But that second recitation of the spell triggered something locked deep in your memory, a place you never tread. The past is behind you so why turn around? Never take a retrograde step, your father taught you that. But now, for the first time, it has been vitally important to dig around in that vast archive of your life, so full of arcane bits of flotsam and jetsam you have tried to discard.
There is a secret hiding in there somewhere, the key to all this, but for the life of you, you cannot figure it out. After days of struggling you finally admit that you need help remembering.
There is someone who knows. But no, you cannot contact her and she would not tell you anyway, even if you had a way to speak to her. Still, the idea will not leave you. It’s been placed by some force you cannot identify, some urge you cannot so easily throw away.
When dawn comes and the servant brings the morning meal—the same bland food you have eaten for days now—you tell the man that you need to speak with Nikora.
The servant doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you, but not a half hour later another comes and takes you through the icy passageways and back to the sitting room. Nikora and Cayro are at the rickety table, flipping through loose pages written in a language you cannot read. Curiosity prickles, but you push that weakness away.
“Yes, Eero?” Nikora asks, distracted.
“I believe the key to controlling the wraiths lies in the incantation you use to summon them.”
Her eyes narrow, but she does not interrupt.
“Where did you learn it?”
“The Seekers discovered it during their missions across the world. Every part of the spell was carefully considered before it was tried.” She speaks to you as one would to a slow child. You grit your teeth in an effort not to show your impatience. Though in your mind, a vision of squeezing her skull between your hands comes unbidden. Imagining its pulpy contents steaming as they’re exposed to the cold air calms you. This is the future you work toward.
“And yet,” you offer, “the wraiths express undirected violence. The incantation seals the blood spell, it is the only aspect of the spell that is changeable.”
“But we are not summoning them at all,” she insists. “The spell is just to open the portal to the World After. Those near the portal enter our world.”
That is at the root of the problem, but she must be too daft to realize it. Cayro lifts his head, cutting an odd glance at her.
“I am not unfamiliar with the magic of the blood,” you say, evenly. “Its mastery is how I was able to hold power for so long. We need to adjust the spell to better accomplish our goals.”
“How did you learn it?” she asks.
“Learn what?”
“Blood magic.”
The question stymies you. “I cannot recall. I have lived many lifetimes and learned many things.”
She snorts, derisive. “What would be helpful is for you to use that knowledge to take the Songs of the Wailers and give them to me.” You suppose that would help her, but the current arrangement suits you.
Reasoning with Nikora is proving to be a dead end. This woman is far too stupid to lead for long. Her devotion to the frivolous faith these Physicks hold has blinded her, but your eyes are open.
You scan the room as she prattles on and on about St. Dahlia’s mission and how blessed it is and destined for success. How the Physicks will rule once immortality is theirs and they rebuild the Great Machine.
The jar of desiccated flesh is nowhere in sight, thank the seeds, but on the sideboard next to the table lies a small stash of strange objects that were not there before. Several pairs of spectacles, two compasses, pens, loops of metal and stiff rope, boxy devices with wires sticking out of them, mugs and shoes and watches and even a telephone. A handful of small discs are off to one side, they are not unlike the medallion that Nikora wears.
Are these all amalgamations? She must be stockpiling them, hoarding their remaining quintessence. These medallions mimic Songs. With one of those, you can leave this place. Leave this madwoman to her spirits and her lost cause.
As she prattles, you yawn and ask for a drink. She pauses, midsentence, surprised at the interruption, and tracks your walk around the table to the other side, closer to the sideboard with the object and trinkets. You fall into a seat that can barely hold your weight.
She is still gaping like a fish, but Cayro watches you carefully. A flash in his eye makes you linger on his scrutiny, then focus once again on the woman who is ostensibly the leader of the ragtag outfit. Taking over from her will be too easy. That is, if you even want to do such a thing.
“Some refreshment would be much appreciated,” you repeat. There is a moment when you are not sure she will listen, then she yells for a servant who peeks his head in and scurries off with instructions.
“Resources are in short supply, here, Eero.” Her voice is clipped. The way she says your name sounds dirty. You will teach her manners before this is all said and done.
“Just something for my parched throat. As a close ally, I know you cannot deny me such a basic form of hospitality. So, if the incantation is not the problem, then what do you think it is?”
You tap your fingers on the tabletop, affecting a casual demeanor. Cayro stacks his papers neatly, his fingernails clean, hands appearing soft and callus-free. Not that yours have ever known a day’s labor, either.
Cayro takes your measure with obsidian eyes. “We wonder if it is simply the nature of the spirits who are waiting when the portal opens. If we can dispatch them and access others, perhaps those not so eager to leave, we may find more success. It may require retrieving a soul from the Eternal Flame.”
Nikora slams her hand down to shut Cayro up. He snaps his mouth shut, but does not appear chastened. Nikora seethes.
“Is taking a soul from the Eternal Flame even possible?” you ask after a beat.
She looks annoyed but nods. “It is theorized, though we have as yet not attempted it. The theory is that the spirits gathered on the outer edges of the World After are the ones who seek revenge. Their souls have yet to be cleansed by the purification of the Eternal Flame, and they effect their petty grievances on us. But older spirits, ones that have known peace and are readying themselves for rebirth, those will be able to pass on the wisdom we seek. It is just a matter of having enough expendable bodies near the portal that the vengeance-seeking wraiths can glut themselves. Then we defeat those and allow time for the spell to draw out the souls from the Flame.”
The servant returns with a steaming beverage. It is burning hot and you don’t even taste it as it scalds your tongue and throat. Her plan is inane; much better to control the spirits who come out than try to drag one from a power as great as the Flame’s.
As the servant leaves, you trip him and the platter clatters to the ground. This distraction is all you need to reach to the sideboard behind you and grab one of the small medallions lying there without disturbing anything else. In a matter of seconds, the servant has righted himself. You pocket the coin in your trousers.
Nikora and Cayro stare angrily at the silent, bald man. Neither has seen what you’ve done.
Back in your room, you palm the medallion and close your eyes. Immediately, you can tell it is weak. Perhaps that is why it was left out unguarded. You have controlled an amalgam before, using Ydaris’s medallion back when she first arrived. You dislike the taste the combined magics leave in your mouth, but now any magic is priceless.
However, there is not enough here for you to effect an escape. Not enough to knock out guards, destroy this infernal castle, fly or travel through space the way you know Physicks can do. The way they spirited you away from your prison cell all those weeks ago. What a waste of resources they’d expended. You cannot even cancel the spell that prevents you from using blood magic they haven’t approved.
For that, you will have to kill Nikora. Once she’s dead, her spell will fade and you will have access to the resources you need. Then you can reclaim what is rightfully yours. What you struggled and sweat and bled for for hundreds of years.
Still, the medallion is not totally worthless.
It can still help you to reclaim your land and your people from your sister who has no right to them. For it can help you contact her.
Using the power of the medallion might not allow you to travel, but you can send your voice and image. There is power enough for that.
You focus on the intention and picture your twin. Where is she now? When she would visit, she would often smell of honeyberry flowers and freshly cut grass. Perhaps she is even now out walking the grounds of the palace. Luxurious grounds in a temperate climate unlike this frozen wasteland where you currently reside.
In all your years of conquest, you never made it to Rosira, never saw the city of your birth. You never left Lagrimar until the day the Mantle came down, but today is a new day. You successfully destroyed the Mantle and will be truly free soon enough.
For a moment nothing happens, and then her face winks into existence above you, floating in the air. You catch glimpses of her surroundings, she is not outside, but in a modestly decorated room—at least by your standards. If she is surprised to see you she masks it well.
“Sister. Are you not happy to see me?” You spoke these words once not too long ago, before she cruelly betrayed you and stole your Songs.
Now she stares, her face a mask. “Happier than I was to receive the gifts you sent. Those were from you, were they not?”
“Gifts?”
“Three of them. I cannot say they were welcome, however, and I should not like to receive any more.”
You chuckle. “I wish I could take the credit, but alas, I am far less free than I would like to be. Unable to give to you what I truly would like to.”
“Did you trade one cage for another?” A smile is in her voice. It warms you some. You have missed her.
“A more gilded version and quite a bit cooler.”
“I have been looking for you,” she says.
“You prefer me in your prison to someone else’s.”
“I would prefer you free, if you could manage it. I will come and get you; where are you?”
“Honestly, I cannot say. Though I am no maiden in need of rescuing. And you and I have very different ideas about freedom. Besides, I have a plan.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And you think I will help?”
“Did you not just offer to help?”
“I offered to retrieve you, that is different.”
“Perhaps. But I have a question for you.”
“And I for you, brother. What is it, exactly, that you want?” Her voice is low and slow.
“What I always wanted, dear sister. Equality.”
A hint of worry flickers across her gaze. “What is it you want to ask?”
“I am having some difficulty recollecting—are you familiar with Yllis’s research when he studied the blood magic? I know he showed you his journals.” An expression close to heartbreak crosses her face at the mention of her former lover. A pang of regret hits you. You had to kill him after all, but that was war. He would have killed you first.
“What are you asking me?” she rasps.
“Before things between us soured, when he would still share his discoveries, he had mentioned exploring more complex ways of combining blood magic and Earthsong. Did he ever use Nethersong as well? And did he succeed?”
She shakes her head. “What makes you think I would help you in what you seek? Especially when you would only use it against me.”
“I have never given you more trouble than you could handle, dear sister. However, some things are inevitable. Things like your love for me.” You smile widely and almost feel that it is genuine. Her love is real, as is yours, honestly, but she has always loved you ineffectually. Or perhaps it was because you were ineffectual back then. Her love felt more suited for a puppy or some small, soft thing to be petted and cooed at but not respected. In that way she was like Sayya. The girl from so many years ago for whom you named a city. You would have been true to her, but she rejected you. The pain of heartbreak still threatens to tear you apart.
Sayya is long dead. Could you bring her back from the Eternal Flame? Or was she reborn into another life, had other loves? You wrangle your thoughts back from this precipice.
“I will not help you with the dead, brother. I will not help you destroy this place. And nothing that Yllis knew will help you, either, he had no experience with what you are trying to do.”
“I’m not so sure you know what Yllis had experience with. And did you not say you wished to see me free?”
“If you could manage it without harming anyone. If you could find the light of goodness within your nature. I believe it is still there. What would you do with your freedom, I wonder?” A shudder rolls through her, and she turns sharply, looking off behind her as if she heard something.
“When will you return?” she asks, turning back.
“When it is time. When I can reclaim what is mine.”
“None of this is yours, brother. And no one living will allow you to take it back.”
“You might not have as much choice about that as you think.”
She sighs deeply. In that motion she reminds you of your mother, a small woman with deep strength. You desperately wish that was enough, but it never has been. “If you were worried for me,” you say, “then I hope that your mind has been set at ease.”
The energy of the medallion wanes. It is a weak little thing, suitable for children and parlor tricks only.
“Stay safe, brother. Until I see you again.”
You chuckle. Her statement is ominous in its own way. “And you as well.” And then you allow the connection to wink out.
Her face is still familiar to you. Her voice even more so. You think back to those long days when you were in another cell and she would come to talk to you. Reminisce. Tell stories of days long past and people long dead.
It was nice. It felt a bit like …
But you can’t allow base sentimentality to step in. You squashed that long ago. Being human and mortal and powerless once again has made you soft. You must regain strength as soon as possible.
You will meditate, run through your memories until you find the thing that has been itching at your mind. The key needed for you to wrest control from the feeble, misguided zealots and return to your twin as promised.
On top.