She falters, her brows pinching in thought. “I mean… I don’t know. Hundreds seems like a lot.”
“It is. Someone put a lot of effort into this plan, and I’m really eager to know why. Like I said, this was a diversion. They did something else while Nyja and I were busy. We need to find out what.”
“But pregnant women!”
She paces, angrier and more alive than I’ve seen her in weeks. If this is what finally brings her out of her apathy, I’ll have to send whoever did it my sincerest thanks.
“Do you want to see?” I ask, reckless and excited. “We can go right now to the mortal world and see how it was done. Maybe even who did it.”
Jaga stops in her tracks and slowly turns to me. Her face is tight, her body hard with coiled tension. She walks more confidently now, too, the blood she drank healing whatever blisters form on her feet as soon as they appear.
“Will it help them? Those women?” she asks at length. Before I have time to answer, she shakes her head with a dark, bitter laugh. “No, it won’t. You just want to… I don’t know, manipulate me again. You…”
She looks at me suddenly, eyes wide and wary. Her fists clench, and her eyes devour me, sliding up and down my body. She snarls, baring her teeth when I take a step closer.
“No!” she screams, her fingers curling into claws. “Don’t touch me again! Don’t ever touch me! And what you did… Whatever it was… I won’t let you again!”
I shake my head, bemused. “What do you mean? What did I do?”
But she doesn’t listen. Her face has that look again, that tightness of effort, eyes closed, forehead lined withconcentration. Jaga’s feet lift off the floor, and she levitates a few inches above it, her teeth bared in pain or exertion. The air shimmers red, the bright color of poppies. She throws her head back and screams, and a terrifying current of raw magic pours out of her, rising like a whirlpool with her in the center.
I watch, mesmerized, awed, and completely shocked. These are levels of magic worthy of a god, and she pours out more and more, all without a clear goal. This isn’t a spell. It’s like she’s vomiting magic, except, she should never be able to hold so much.
“What the fuck is happening?” I whisper, the sense of foreboding tightening my chest.
The volatile currents rise higher and higher. Jaga’s burning through magic, and it has no way out, no purpose to serve. For a moment, I wonder with awed trepidation if she’ll destroy the Well of Souls. It would be a magnificent feat, magnificent and terrible.
The pillars that transport souls into their proper levels of Nawie hum and vibrate, as if sensing a soul arriving. The whirlpool of magic bends toward them, splitting in two. For a moment, everything is bright with the red aura, moving with the shocking wind of magic, and then… it settles.
Jaga’s torrent of power is sucked into both pillars and sent away, and she collapses onto the floor, laughing soundlessly.
“I did it,” she repeats in delirium. “I did it, I did it!”
But I don’t understandwhatit is she did. In all the centuries of my ancient life, I never saw a thing like that. Not even when gods were free.
“What did you do?” I ask in a hoarse whisper, dread and fury settling in the pit of my stomach like stones.
If she damaged my pillars and broke the Well of Souls, I will never forgive her.
Jaga ignores me, laughing until she runs out of breath. She lies on her side, twitching, her tangled hair in her face. Her body’s relaxed, completely at peace.
Questioning chirps come from above, echoing down the shaft. I turn away from Jaga to watch, clenching my fists. If the pillars stop working, we will be fucked. It took me months to infuse them with my power before. I can’t do it again right in the heart of war.
Two yellow tits flutter down the shaft and sit on my pillar, chirping at each other. The magic pulses, and they are gone. I sense into the tunnels of Nawie, locating the new souls at once. They are right where they are supposed to be. They are well.
Relief shivers down my spine, but it lasts only a moment. Because if breaking my work wasn’t Jaga’s goal,whatwas?
When I ask her again, she takes a deep breath as if to tell me and bursts into an unhinged, horrible cackle.
Chapter seven
Mother
Jaga lies asleep, curled up on my throne. It’s been three days since the incident in the Well of Souls, and she hasn’t moved from her spot or spoken to me. She’s back to her former apathy, and I am at my wits’ end.
Like every time she falls asleep, I am on my knees at the foot of my own throne, my hands hovering above her as I gaze deep into her being. I examine each tiny particle of her body, searching for illness, degeneration, madness—anythingout of the ordinary.
But she’s fine. Well. Healthy.
