CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
If Harmony were tangible, would you
embrace it?
Hold it to your bosom, safe and secure?
What we value, we protect,
and yet we continue to neglect
that which needs so much care and nurturing.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
The new wraiths were motionless; the only sound coming from the cemetery was the whistle of a chilling wind. Goose bumps pebbled on Kyara’s flesh.
Mooriah stepped up to her side. “The spirits are leaving other hosts to converge here,” the woman said. “The Earthsingers will have no effect on these new things as they are not alive.”
As if called by her words, Darvyn arrived, running with the wind at his back so he glided across the ground, nearly flying. He punched his arm forward, toward the waiting horde, and a red lightning strike shot out into a wraith standing fifty paces away. The thing did not react at all. It stood stone-faced, still waiting.
Darvyn attacked again and again, shooting blasts of energy into more of the creatures. Kyara sank into her other sight and redirected her avatar. It tore spirits from the unmoving bodies, releasing them from possession only to have the corpses retaken again and transform.
She opened her eyes again in the real world. “The selakki oil?”
Darvyn nodded and turned to grab a canister from a Raunian warrior, who led the group accompanying the Nethersingers. Kyara ejected another spirit and Darvyn let a stream of oil fly through the air to coat the body. The hovering spirit just darted away, toward the back of the cemetery to find another host.
“We don’t have enough oil,” the young man said. “Not for every corpse in that cemetery.” The graves stretched out for thousands of paces. He was right.
The wraiths began to move, shuffling into a cluster at the edge of the burial ground. Whereas up until now, they’d all been foreign—Yalyish they’d assumed—now there were a startling number of Elsiran faces along with some Lagrimari.
“He’s using our dead as well,” she whispered, aghast. “Taking fresh spirits, not just ones waiting in the World After.” For the True Father to control and manipulate their own dead—Kyara’s heart dropped like a stone.
Darvyn took her hand. Fear welled deep in his eyes, mirroring her own.
“It’s time to use the death stone,” Mooriah said. “We cannot fight them. We need—” Her voice cut off, strangled as her face screwed up tight with pain. She wrapped her arms around her middle and moaned.
“What’s happening?” Tana cried, reaching for the woman.
Kyara shook her head and used her other sight to find out. Mooriah’s raptor shuddered, changing into its tiny bird form before it faded away to nothing.
In Kyara’s normal vision, Mooriah’s body fell to the ground and transformed. The dark cloud of the woman’s spirit escaped with a whoosh and appeared to shiver.
Neither Kyara nor Tana had expelled Mooriah—one of the wraiths must have done this. Kyara’s gaze darted to the amassing enemy, but each face was blank. She had no idea which one had targeted Mooriah, but that was the only explanation.
As the woman’s spirit lunged for the body it had just vacated, a giant mirror hurtled through the air toward them. Kyara dragged Tana out of the way just in time. Glass cracked and splintered, hitting its intended target—the body Mooriah had just vacated.
The aged form of Kyara’s former mistress and tormentor, Ydaris, lay crushed beneath the wreckage. Nethersong filled the woman immediately. She was dead.
More mirrors were vaulted their way by unseen hands in the midst of the crowd of wraiths, but this time Darvyn batted them away with winds.
Writhing with anger, Kyara struggled to focus, pointing her wildcat avatar into the opposing army, ejecting spirits left and right only to have them find hosts again almost immediately.
Her throat closed up. Her skin grew too tight against her muscles. She let go of her tight hold on Darvyn’s hand and tried to catch her breath.
The Breath Father’s words echoed in her head. The Song of an ancient Nethersinger—it is mighty indeed … that power has grown beyond anyone’s imagining. Her vision swam and she stumbled in place. Once you unleash what it holds, there is no going back. You have only to touch it to release its fearsome force into this world and become a goddess of death.
The death stone was warm in her pocket and pulsing with purpose, like it wanted to be used. She fished the wrapped caldera from her pocket and held it in her shaking hand.
“That’s it?” Darvyn said. She nodded, unable to speak.
Gingerly, she unwrapped the cloth from around the stone while not touching it. It was just a dull, red rock in her hand. Small and harmless in appearance. All she had to do was touch it, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
Kyara’s and Tana’s avatars were still expelling spirits. Darvyn and the Raunians were manipulating the selakki oil, but a tiny corner of Kyara’s mind was frozen. Immobilized by the decision before her.
She had no wish to be a goddess of death. But did she have a choice?
Tana’s scream brought her back to the present.
“Papa!” the girl cried, sounding as though she was being murdered. “Papa!” She pointed a skinny, scarred arm toward one of the Elsiran wraiths who had moved to the front of the line.
“Benn?” Darvyn whispered with horror. “What? How?”
The man was as the other wraiths, impassive, sightless, waiting for instruction from their unseen master. Kyara’s heart broke at the misery and grief coming from Darvyn and Tana.
Distracted as she was by the sight before her and the panic taking up all the space inside, she did not see Tana turn toward the stone. By the time she recognized the girl’s intent it was too late.
Tana slapped her hand onto the death stone, which vibrated in response. Her small body convulsed in a seizure. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she started to fall.
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.