“Naxal chose him”—Ysira pointed at Neri—“and now we have the means to kill the gods.” More shouting, but every eye in the hall was fixed on her. “I was taken by the Harvest when I was seventeen years old. I escaped because I found Iyelekirin, and it chose me.” She placed a hand on her belly. “It shaped my son as he grew inside me. He can wield the power of the Source like he was made for it. I watched him burn the Lord of Sickness to the bone and emerge unscathed.”
No need to tell them of Ged’s manipulations. No need to tell them what happened to Neri’s siblings, of his reluctance and regret, or of everything Ysira didn’t know about what Naxal might do to him over time.No needto tell them of the torture she had suffered or the cruel, stupid, accidental circumstances of her possession.
She told them a story that was not strictly true but sounded better than the truth. The sort of story that forged a legend—not just a series of awful mistakes.
Perhaps she was foolish to obfuscate like this in front of at least three telepaths. But she had long since learned how to lie to their sort, and it did not require exceptional cunning, noreven mental fortitude. No—to lie to a telepath required only the capacity to lie to oneself. It was the purview of the audacious, the delusional, the infatuated . . . the faithful. The ones desperate enough to have no other choice.
What were the odds that Ysira would bring these people back their god—her son, no less—herself bearing a demon stronger than almost any other? What were the odds that she had survived the Harvest, and returned alive from the gods’ clutchestwice?
It seemed impossible. One might even call it providence. And now she had their rapt attention.
“You hide here,” Ysira said, suddenly breathless, “ruling over dust and shadows. You shelter in the ruins of your ancestors’ glory. Your heroes become martyrs, and you count down the days until the Church finds you, too. But the turning point has come.”
At last, the Gatekeeper descended from the dais. She stopped in front of Ysira.
“We are cautious,” Eneva said, measured and quiet, “because if we die, all that remains of a ten-thousand-year-old civilization dies with us. We fight when it’s necessary, but our highest directive is to preserve and to prepare. We take in refugees from all corners of the Black Sun’s dominion. We’ve helped telepathic children escape the Church’s clutches. We’ve even infiltrated their ranks.” She pointed at Hesaya. “What haveyoudone, Ysira Var Naktis?”
Her tone was bitter, the title mocking, but Ysira conceded the point. “Not enough,” she admitted. “Not yet. But today I bring an answer to your prayers, and a promise: my blade is yours. My demon is yours.
Naxalis yours. We can liberate this world and rise again.” Eneva’s face was stone. “We require more than words.”
Ysira had been afraid of that. Neri was trembling as the Gatekeeper said, “Show me.”
Neri stammered something unintelligible.
“He can—” Ysira started, but Eneva stabbed a finger at her.
“Youhave no right. You don’t speak for us, let alone for Naxal.” She shook her head, disgusted. “This child has none of the necessary training. He’s far too young. This is dangerous. Can he even understand Naxal’s voice?”
She said again, to Neri, “Show me.”
This time, the words made Iyelekirin flinch. The language of demons filled the hall like a physical presence, and Ysira struggled not to clamp a hand to her head. Eneva touched two fingers to Neri’s brow. Her eyes slid out of focus.
Neri cried out. Ysira reached for the Gatekeeper, but then—the room trembled. Eneva jerked her hand away as though stung.
The rock beneath Neri’s feetcracked.When he opened his eyes, they glowed red. He seized Eneva by the wrist, and she fell to her knees with a scream.
Ysira shoved Eneva out of the way, shouting at everyone else, “Get back!” She leapt in front of Neri, just in time to catch a blast of extradimensional energy to the face.
It was a wonder it didn’t take off her head. For an instant, everything went black. Her jaw slipped sideways with a sickeningpop. She smelled flesh and hair burning. Iyelekirin vibrated, frantic, hating every second of this. But Ysira healed. Skin, muscle, and bone settled back into place. She straightened and lifted her chin. Amid cries of alarm, there came astonished gasps.
She held a hand in front of her, toward Neri. He clenched his fists at his sides, red light twining up his arms and pulsing in his veins, as though his skin had become translucent. As though every fragile physical part of him were merely a vessel to containthe uncontainable. Ysira feared he might shatter. But then he breathed deep, and the light receded, concentrating in his eyes and hands until the heat was gone and only his irises shone.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “My demon is Naxal. We will liberate this world.”
The steady clamor around the hall died out, swift as a snuffed candle.
Kanan Var Mondral was the first to fall to his knees. The demon priest’s face—which moments before had held nothing but skepticism—was slack with amazement. His voice broke. “Var Naxal.”
Shaved head dripping sweat, breathing shallow with agony, Eneva clutched her arm to her chest. The limb was charred beyond salvaging. But a strange look had fallen over her face—both terror and wonder, a chord struck so deep in a place so raw, it might shatter her. Her lips moved soundlessly. Hesaya helped her up, a steadying hand on her back.
Ysira met Eneva’s eyes full of hurt, and shock, and—like the faintest of embers, poised to become a blaze—awe.She cradled her ruined arm like a precious relic.
“Var Naxal,” she whispered to Neri. “It’s you. You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.”
Neri looked past the Gatekeeper, at Ysira. She dipped her chin in an attempt to convey approval, but he seemed lost, as though his grip on whatever ancient strength he’d tapped into had already slipped. As Eneva knelt before him and all remaining followed her lead, Neri seemed to retreat even deeper inside himself, to someplace as distant as the stars.
24
