31. XIVAN’S TEACHER

Xivan’s story

The Afterlife

That evening

Xivan could only hope that Talea had figured out how to move past the Veil on her own because for the life of her (ha), Xivan couldn’t explain it.

It felt like all of reality was on the other side of a massive curtain, or—no—that was the wrong metaphor. People spoke of the First Veil and the Second Veil, but it wasn’t like that at all.

The separation of the two worlds wasn’t a pair of veils, it was a single thing. And it was more like a waterfall. Or no: a river rushing perpendicular to the world.

One could dip one’s fingers into this river, play in a little eddy formed by one’s own awareness; this is what people called “seeing past the First Veil.” It was safe and easy and required little effort. No one would ever drown in those shallows.

But crossing the river was a different story. Removed from the shelter of a physical body, the soul was both drawn to and buffeted by the force of that barrier. The strain to the lower soul, the cost in tenyé, was great enough that few could cross over completely. Most were swept away by the river, spinning down to its end, which was also, paradoxically, its source, where they would be washed back into the First World.

Reborn.

A cycle; an endless, elegant loop of life and death.

That’s how it was for most people. Xivan wasn’t most people. She hadn’t been for decades, a dead person trapped in the Living World. But ever since Talea had slid a sword in its scabbard to her in the rain, she’d become something else. The sword had just been the excuse for the scabbard, and the scabbard had changed her life. Or rather, her death.

To her, the barrier was neither a curtain nor a river; it was a road. One she walked across at will in either direction.

She did this now.

The view around her changed as she stepped across, and she was struck once again by the terrible beauty of the place.

Before she became the new Thaena, she hadn’t expected the Afterlife to be beautiful. It seemed inappropriate for the literal place of death to be attractive. Or perhaps it was a matter of perspective; others might find the woods dark and foreboding, the ravens and vultures sinister, the tangled vines and poisonous toadstools harbingers of doom.

But they were beautiful in her eyes. She loved the way the fog hugged close to the ground and glowed a cool bluish-green in the perpetual evening light. The lichen made mazes of decorative patterns on the trunks of trees, and the chill touch of moist air hinted at approaching rain.

She reached out a hand to a tangle of twisted, thorny vines and watched as they bloomed in response to her touch. Roses the color of arterial blood, black in the faint light and heavy with the weight of petals. The fragrance was heady.

No wonder Thaena had loved roses.

She broke off a flower, the thorns smoothing out at her touch, and turned just in time to tuck the rose behind a surprised Talea’s ear.

“Beautiful,” Xivan whispered.

Talea stood, momentarily speechless, then slid into Xivan’s arms like coming home.

It would be the work of but a second, Xivan knew, to find a pleasant bower—or make one. There, she could spend hours in Talea’s arms if she wanted.

And she wanted.

Janel cleared her throat, bringing Xivan back to reality.

The pair broke apart, both blushing. Janel’s expression of fond amusement showed no hint of irritation, but there was a steel in her expression to remind them that they were there on business and under a time limit.

Janel was dressed in black armor rather than the vané garments she’d worn in the Living World. Her laevos was brighter red here, the ends brushing her shoulders with fire.

“So,” Janel said as if she hadn’t just interrupted them in the middle of a passionate embrace, “the trick will be to discover where Thaena—the old Thaena—trapped Doc’s souls. I would think someplace where she wouldn’t have to worry about him wandering off, but also where the demons can’t find him and spoil her fun.”

“The Land of Peace,” Talea suggested.

Xivan pursed her lips. “I don’t know. That seems a little too nice—”

“Not the Land of Peace,” an old woman said from the tree line. “How would you stop him from wandering into his next life? Do try to use that brain I imagine is somewhere in that skull.”

Xivan turned, her eyes narrowing.

“What is it?” Talea asked, glancing around.

Janel drew her sword, and slowly scanned the edges of the clearing.

Xivan frowned at Talea, making a vague gesture toward the old woman.

“Pardon the expression, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Talea said, then paused. “Wait: Are you seeing a ghost? Is that a thing you can do here?” She searched the area, but her gaze passed right over the newcomer without a reaction.

Xivan stared at the old woman. No, not old: ancient. Hoary and withered and, given the mirror finish of her eyes, some variety of voramer. Her skin was pale to the point of translucency, splashed with liver spots, and her hair a white, spindly tangle. Xivan couldn’t imagine a more perfect image of a witch for such a setting. She wore robes that had once been funeral white, but age and the swampy nature of the locale had turned them a dingy gray. She leaned heavily on a gnarled and twisted walking stick. The woman seemed familiar to Xivan, although she couldn’t place where she’d seen this particular old crone before.

Neither of Xivan’s companions could see the old woman.

“Who are you?” Xivan asked.

The old woman chuckled, although it wasn’t a friendly sound. Her expression turned even more sinister as she said, “The one you’ve been waiting for, I should imagine.” She flashed a grin full of too-sharp, impossibly-bright teeth. “Why don’t you call me Khae.” It seemed less a suggestion than an order.

Xivan exhaled loudly as she realized why the woman looked so familiar. Not someone Xivan had ever met but she’d remembered reading her description.

“You’re Khaemezra,” Xivan stated.

“What?” Janel dropped into a defensive stance. “Thaena’s here?”

Talea looked around wildly, but saw nothing out of the ordinary (if such a term applied in this place).

“No,” the old woman snapped, “I’m most certainly not Khaemezra. Didn’t anyone explain how this works to you? Or do I have to do all the damn work myself? As usual.” She rapped her walking stick against the ground. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. We have a lot of ground to go over if you’re going to be anything but a complete waste of death.”

“What was that?” Janel asked.

Xivan whipped her head to look at her. “Did you hear—”

Janel cut her off with a slash of one hand. “Listen!”

“Oh bother,” the old woman said. “Here we go again.”

Xivan tried to ignore Khae. She did hear it: hooting and ululating and screaming and shouting; the sounds of battle. Distant, but growing closer, and quickly.

“What is it?” Talea asked.

Janel’s brows drew together, but her lips curled in a feral grin. “Demons,” she said, sounding entirely too pleased about the idea.

“I do hate those things,” the old woman muttered to herself. Xivan glanced over and blinked. Khae now sat on a tree branch some fifteen or so feet off the ground, dangling her legs and kicking. “Well? Don’t just sit there like a princess visiting a farm for the first time. You have a job to do, don’t you? Kill them.”