A fact I find oddly comforting.
I emerge from the palace hand in hand with the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan. Serik and the others clamber to their feet, looking at us agog as we glide down the gold-dust path. Shouts of praise and hundreds of questions fly at me from every angle, but Ghoa’s voice, and all of the impossible things she said, continue to clash like sabers in my ears. Too loud to focus on anything else. My gaze keeps drifting back to the three ethereal forms standing sentinel before the palace, even though I know she won’t be among the Goddess-touched. Not yet.
The Lady and Father halt between my group of rebels and Kartok’s battalion of Zemyans and Shoniin, standing in a shaft of radiant sunlight that has broken through the black shroud of nothingness.
“We thank you for the bravery and diligence you exhibited by coming here to defend us.” The Lady nods at our small but formidable group, fronted by Serik and the kings of the Protected Territories. “As for you …” She turns to the group of Zemyans and Shoniin, who throw themselves facedown into the grass, insisting they knew nothing about Kartok’s plans. That they never wanted to wage war against gods. The Goddess waits for them to quiet before continuing. “We thank you, as well, for forcing us to reassess a feud that’s lasted centuries too long,” She finishes with a warm smile.
They glance up tentatively, their faces slack with disbelief—a very different sort of disbelief.
“You’rethankingus?” Chanar murmurs. “But you nearly died. We forced our way into your realm….”
Oyunna swats Chanar over the head. “No need to remind Her.”
“As a token of our thanks, we shall return you to your home. Come.” The Lady sets off across the lawn at a jarringly quick clip that instantly makes me smile. There’s a bit of Ghoa in Her yet.
The rest of us scramble to keep up.
Serik appears beside me, questions rushing from his lips like a waterfall. “What happened in there? What did the Lady say? What became of Ghoa?”
I don’t have the energy to explain. Or the words. Or the willingness—if I’m honest. I want to keep it all to myself a few minutes more. To imprint the conversations I had with both the Lady of the Sky and Ghoa deeply in my mind before I open them up to the scrutiny of others.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything, but is it okay if we’re quiet now?” I lace my fingers through Serik’s and look up at him. His hazel eyes are no longer guarded or exhausted but as wide and as open as the grasslands in springtime.
“Take as long as you need,” he says, kissing the back of my hand. “If I can wait nineteen years for my Kalima power, I can certainly wait a few hours for this. Just tell me one thing…. Is shegone?”
After a moment’s contemplation, I shake my head. Because Ghoa will never truly be gone.
“Good,” Serik says with a quiet smile. “I still need someone to blame for all of my problems.”
“Really, Serik?” I ram my shoulder against his side and he chuckles.
“You know Ghoa wouldn’t have it any other way.”
We fall into companionable silence with the rest of our group, taking in the splendor of the garden as the Lady and Father lead us back the way we came. I peer through the thick covering of emerald and garnet leaves. I part the flowering shrubberies with carnelian blooms, looking for a gateway or a tunnel, or even a snag in the air itself. Completely forgetting that we have a final stop to make before we can return to Ashkar.
The corpses of several shepherds and Namagaan warriors, and even a Kalima warrior, lie tangled in the grass where we initially crossed into the Eternal Blue, their blood as bright as the ruby berries dotting the trees. But my gaze goes immediately to the Zemyan prince and his pale, unseeing eyes.
Whispers explode from both groups, and a good number of Zemyans lurch after the First Gods as They kneel at Ivandar’s side. Suddenly desperate to protect the prince they were so eager to depose.
Father Guzan raises both hands, and the earth surges up in front of the advancing Zemyans, throwing them onto their backs. Behind this wall of protection, the Lady of the Sky extends Her palms over Ivandar and chants a song that’s an amalgamation of every sacred hymn I’ve ever known. Curls of blue smoke drift down from Her fingers and envelope the prince in a thick haze. The ritual is jarringly similar to Kartok’s Loridium, but then, why wouldn’t it be? Zemya is a child of the Lady and Father. She may have forged Her own magic, but the foundations of Her power, Her training and tutelage, came from Her parents. Proving yet again that They aren’t so different.
As soon as the smoke dissipates, Ivandar surges up from his back with a gasp, as if escaping the throes of a nightmare. He pants and blinks against the harsh sunlight, which continues to punch through the crumbling darkness. His hands rove over his chest and torso, feeling for wounds that are no longer there—though the evidence remains. Blood coats his fingers and plasters his tunic to his chest.
“What happened?” he asks, finally glancing up. He squints and gasps even louder when he registers the faces of the beings on either side of him. “Am I dead? Where’s Zemya? I thought She would greet me….” Ivandar tries to scuttle back, but the Lady places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Youweredead, but thanks to a friend, you won’t remain so. We’re going to find Zemya now.” The Lady rises with the grace of an eagle taking flight. The Father extends a hand to Ivandar and helps him to his feet.
“What friend? I still don’t understand….” Ivandar’s round, frightened eyes scan the crowd. Looking for Ghoa. When they fail to find her, his gaze settles on me. I give him a single, somber nod.
His entire frame sags. He clutches his bloodied shirt even harder. “How? Why would she do this?”
Before I can answer, the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan join hands. Shocks of brilliant green grass and swaying ferns spring up beneath the Father, and another plaque of darkness crumbles from the Eternal Blue sky directly over the Lady’s head, enfolding Them in the largest swathe of sunlight yet. They whisper words too low for any of us to hear, and when They raise their joined hands overhead, the garden falls away, bringing us to stand before a high stone wall with a gate large enough for only one person to pass at a time.
Ashkar stands beside the gate, clad in gleaming lamellar armor—the most glorious Kalima warrior I’ve ever beheld. Yet I’m neither awed nor impressed. The sight of Him floods me with too many conflicting emotions. He gave me my power, for which I will always be grateful. But He also led me to use that power to attack and enslave. To conquer and claim the people and places He feared.
Maybe He truly thought Zemya was a threat. And perhaps She was. Or maybe He was even more afraid of sharing the smallest part of His glory with His sister, of not being the best in the eyes of Their parents. I know better than anyone how the need for praise and approval can drive you to do things you never would have considered. But for some reason, I had assumed the gods were above this. That They had transcended such lowly human emotions. But maybe it’s that humanity, that fallibility, that keeps Them tied to us. Bringing out the best and the worst in all of us.
When He spots our group, Ashkar brandishes His saber and moves in front of the gate. “What aretheydoing in our realm?” He levels His blade at the Zemyans.
