(Once, she told River, “It feels like Eliri was created to be something, not someone. A triumph of fetal design. And once Eliri was viable, what was the point of living?”
“River loves you,” River said, not knowing what else to say.
“That’s a good reason,” she murmured, leaning against an, and River hugged her tight, knowing she didn’t entirely think so, even if she wasn’t lying, either.)
An drops the crystal finger into the Lapis River.
“River, there you are.”
It’s Roc, cranky and tired for all the work he’s been doing lately, to become one of the miran, and taking up River’s slack, which the cult leader doesn’t mind but also, at moments like this, resents a little. River ignores him, and Roc grasps River’s hand, pulling it away from the water. “Come back and get some rest.”
“River will rest when River is dead,” River says.
“That’s not fucking funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” River shrugs, touching ans lips with the tip of ans fingers as if there’s a cigarette to enjoy. It wasn’t a joke, it’s a promise.
River has always been clear with the world about exactly who an is.
Here is the way the moon is fixed in the velvet sky over Moonshadow City, here is the way the Moon-Eater dies, here is the way an empire is born:
Iriset and Lyric stand in the exact center of a command array, near the middle of the quarter-mile array, just beside the shrine of the Moon-Eater that one day will be a glorious temple. Now it’s only four gates with holy arches at every cardinal corner of the small crater they made when they landed here nearly three seasons ago. “Hold on to me,” Iriset tells Lyric. “That’s all you have to do.”
She’s in a loincloth and thin robe loosely tied, bare-armed and barefoot, her hair knotted tightly out of her way, and she’s ready to feel the forces on her lips, the nape of her neck, her cheeks and palms, the soles of her feet. And the bare skin over her sternum. In one hand she holds a stylus, in the other a marble made out of Maimeri’s semen because Iriset never really kids about that kind of thing, and a lucky charm is going to do her a lot of good today.
Lyric wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close. He kisses her temple. “I trust you,” he says.
Iriset takes a deep breath and taps the first node.
Opposite them across the little crater, Maimeri stands in an equally small spiral design, ready to lend ahz body and design to the expression of mirané transformation. Az taps the second node.
The sky is bright, vivid and warm, with only a few wispy clouds.The moon is up there, moving into place, but hard to see until it begins to cover the sun.
The third through tenth nodes join the subtle resonance, as the eight designers surrounding them begin, too. Helica Silkhair holds her node in synchronous vibration with a calm, determined expression. These designers will stay in place and become among the first mirané princes, and she is unsure she wishes for such a so-called gift. But to be here at the center requires it. Together the eight ignite the pagoda array overhead and link it with the octagonal lightning array built by the College of Lightning Revelation to power the moon helix and capture the falling forces from the moon itself.
As the resonance builds, the numen floats over the various threads and knots of force in the interlocking design arrays to charge a handful of them in perfect order. It finishes and sends up a great red spark to signal to Roc Aliel, Peace of Silence, Amado Chimera, and the new Moon-Eater’s Mistress at each of the far steeples to begin their countdown. They are the farthest away who will have their bodies destroyed, and be reborn mirané. Amado will be a very good mirané prince, and that is not a compliment.
Iriset looks down at the Moon-Eater, who lounges in the bottom of the little crater, staring up at the sun.
“That’s not good for your eyes,” she calls down. He laughs and points up at the center dome of the sky.
The moon slides into the bright light of the sun.
The daylight cools like a dream, and Iriset says, “See you later,” to the Moon-Eater.
He closes his eyes and spreads his arms and legs to activate four subtle little anchors drilled into the red rock. He starts the process of his own unraveling.
Iriset triggers the lens array on her opal eye so that she can see the nearest strands of force and catch them with her stylus, then takesa deep breath and looks to the cardinal of Lightning Revelation far across the stone garden from her location. “Now!” she cries, and his seven fellows clap their hands and drop to their knees to jam styli into the bracing power designs. They draw the bound forces up with their styli and cast the architecture at the eclipse. It lights the whole area with vivid silver lines of force, huge pillars of light shooting to the moon. Iriset sees it in layers of cutting color, almost too much to comprehend—for someone other than Silk, at least.
Below her the Moon-Eater grits his teeth and takes short, shallow breaths, surprised to be afraid. Wisps of force drift away from him, adding to the strength of the design drafted around the little crater.
Iriset grabs one of Lyric’s hands and lowers it to her belly, making him dig his fingers under her robe to the inlaid-ink rousing design. He sucks in a breath of understanding and pinches at the north node. Iriset feels the instant heat, leaning back into him. Lyric murmurs nonsense against her neck, rubbing in a spiral against her belly.
She lets the warmth grow. She can sunder without sex most of the time, but for this it’s not worth the chance. The rousing array will let her begin rivation, summon the fifth force, giving her the power to unmake the Moon-Eater and turn him into the huge, living, unrivaled Holy Design.
The moon itself will bind it all into place. (If they can catch it.) When the blowback comes, Iriset will be ready.
Daylight continues to go watery, and Lyric hums traditional Silent tones against her neck. The vibrations tremble down her body, from his lips to the array to her hot, aching pelvic floor. It’s good her body is so obedient, and she holds out the lucky charm, locking eyes with Maimeri. His body, wrapped in spiraling forces like a silk cocoon, his seed in a sunderer’s hand.
