Shattered sunlight book.., p.80
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 80
“I ran for my life with the Lightweavers,” he said, rubbing at his forehead.
Ary gave a polite smile and glanced at his wife, arching an eyebrow.
“Chief of Hassanach Hold,” she explained. “Commander of the Wrackthar forces here.”
“What’s left of them.” The man gave a sad look at the field. “I already sent word to President Weizoff. He says he’ll be here as soon as possible. Eager to organize things. A fresh start, I suppose.”
“For those who survived.”
Ary’s heart constricted at the pain in his wife’s voice.
“It’ll take him weeks to get here,” Chaylene said.
“So we have a lot of work to do with, uh . . .” Kozzen glanced at the Luastria. “Well, skyers and all. I suppose we’re not in any condition to fight . . . I mean, well . . .”
“Peace is needed,” Ary said, fixing his eyes on the Sunlight General. She reminded him of his ma staring at his pa’s corpse.
“Peace,” the man sighed, looking up at the sky. “Maybe. Maybe.”
Ary clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s go meet with the leader of Theisseg’s forces.”
“Her?” He nodded to the Sunlight General. “I don’t think she wants to talk.”
“We have to try, or what has this all been for?” Ary looked around. Soldiers watched them from both sides, broken up into different groups—Wrackthar, Vionese, Vaarckthian, Zzuki, Ethinski. They milled, individuals shifting around in groups like schools of fish drifting along a skyland’s edge.
The dead still littered the battlefield.
“Sergeant,” Ary said, switching to Vionese. “Assemble funeral details for the dead.”
“Sir,” she saluted then marched towards the nearest group of Vionese browncoats.
Ary sighed. They’d put off talking to the Sunlight General long enough.
*
Shadows fell across Uickthio. She did not look up from the smooth oval bored through the skyland. The angle was sharp, almost straight down. The dark waters of the lake rippled below, shadowed by Mupfen.
“Admiral Rnuilsick?” chirped a Luastria voice. “Admiral?”
White robes rustled. A Luastria squatted beside Uickthio, her head cocking, brown feathers rustling around inquisitive eyes. A gentle wing draped over Uickthio’s shoulders, distal feathers brushing burning cheeks. Pain flared across her face, the scratches throbbing.
“Are you okay, Uickthio?” the voice chirped.
The admiral stared at the Luastria. “I know you,” Uickthio said, voice rough, raw, like she hadn’t spoken in a century. “You’re . . . Archbishopress Puoupyi.”
The Luastria nodded.
Memories from a lifetime ago flooded through Uickthio. She sat in the Emperor’s privy chambers as he made the decision to go to war with the Autonomy. Archbishopress Puoupyi had been there, representing the Theocracy. The Empire and the Church had been close since the Theological Treaty signed by Zhnavth II nearly three hundred years ago.
“Admiral Rnuilsick,” a stern voice chirped. Another Luastria in white robes knelt, though she wore a cedar crown. “Do you have your wits?”
“The Bishriarch?” Uickthio gasped. She looked around, seeing those around her, a flock of Archbishopresses in their robes clustered behind a Vionese man, tall, broad-shouldered, blond hair ruffled, wearing a tattered sailor’s jacket. A half-Vionese woman stood beside him, her skin paler than the average Vaarckthian, her hair wheat-gold. “Chaylene Jayne?”
The woman nodded.
“So you are him,” Uickthio said, eyes falling on the Vionese man. “You ended the Storm. You freed . . .” Emotion choked her words.
“He freed Riasruo from Her prison,” the Bishriarch said. “She was trapped for two thousand years.”
“And . . .” Uickthio shivered. “You knew? You knew what Amiria was?”
“Not precisely.” The Bishriarch sighed. “But the Church knew that our Blessings came from Theisseg. Iiwroa made a deal with the Storm Goddess two thousand years ago. Theisseg gave us the world above the Storm and saved us from those She’d condemned to live below. We kept Her secret because . . . we were cowards.”
“Amiria truly was Her.” Uickthio trembled. Her fingers clenched. “Riasruo Above, I thought I served the Sun Goddess. Bishriarch, you met with Amiria at Rhogre. You knelt before Her.”
“I did.” The Bishriarch lowered he beak. “Riasruo forgive me, I did.”
“I . . . I . . .” She stared down at the dark waters. “I killed for Theisseg. I trusted the teachings, I listened to Amiria, I did so many horrible things because . . . because . . .”
“It wasn’t your fault, child,” Puoupyi chirped, her wing pulling Uickthio closer. “You were deceived. Riasruo will underst—”
“How can She!” The words burst from Uickthio’s tattered soul. “I killed in Her name! I murdered Her children and sent their souls to Her and . . .” She clutched at her chest. Her heart beat fast, laboring beneath the thick sludge clogging her veins. All those she’d killed. “I . . . I . . . I destroyed Les.” Fires roared from the funeral pyre of an entire skyland. “And Thegren, Brest, Oname, Elemy, Grumen, Rhene, Jhiarly, Vesche, Rhion, Evtan, Vilthon, Fejh, Echijh, Mysh, Jhuxon, Istiar, and Jhov.” Tears fell down her cheeks, following the furrows carved into her ebony flesh. “Riasruo Above, I killed seventeen million people.”
“Althin and Arshele Xogrly,” Chaylene said. “Elich and Mishele Tloay, Jharis Oatlon, Rlyene Thojhen, Mildan Arshev, Bris Xorlen.” Name after name spilled from her lips.
“Chaylene,” Briaris growled. “Enough!”
“I was at Vesche,” Chaylene said, gray eyes hard. “I watched it burn.”
Uickthio flinched. Her eyes trembled. She glanced at the hole. The dead screamed at her from funeral pyres, they bled to death in her arms, they fell broken into the Storm from shattered ships, they were torn apart from ballistae blasts, they clutched their loved ones as their very worlds plummeted to the ground in a fiery cataclysm.
Her heart spasmed, struggling to pump the thick sludge through her veins. It coated her. All the foul things she had done for Theisseg. All the crimes she had done while thinking she was the moral one. That if Amiria said it was necessary, then it had to be. She’d beaten down her conscious and surrendered herself to Theisseg.
The world spun about her. She swayed, staring down at the hole. One step.
She took it.
A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back, spinning her around. Briaris stood there, his red eyes burning, his hand warm. Heat flowed into her. The throbbing pain in her face lessened. She raised a hand to her scratches.
They healed.
“Is that . . . Her Blessing?”
“Fleshknitting,” he answered. “One of Riasruo’s five Blessings.”
“Riasruo’s sacred number.” A laugh burst from her lips, cackling out of her. “Five sacred animals, five feathers around her sun, and only four Blessings. Storm Blessings. How did we not see it?”
“We didn’t want to see it,” Ary said.
She stared down at his wrist. “I destroyed your home.”
“And killed cousins and friends.” Pain wet his eyes, broke his voice. “Soldiers kill their enemies, even when they’re good people.”
“Soldiers don’t butcher entire skylands.” She tried to pull free, but his grip was marble. “Let me go. I can’t take this. Don’t you know what I’ve done? All the people I killed? I threw the torches onto pyres. I burned them alive. Children. Infants.”
The babe wailed at his mother’s breast as the flames consumed them.
“Please, let me go.”
“You have a chance to make up for it.” His words were calm, soft. “We can’t undo our past mistakes; we can only strive to make up for them. The skies are in rough shape. Summer isn’t coming. Theisseg found a way to impart one final cruelty on us, and you helped her.”
She swayed, but his grip held her upright.
“But we can change that. We can work together. Combine our Blessings. Theisseg’s Gifts aren’t all evil. Weathertowers allow us to live on arid skylands. Windwardens let us fly across the skies. Pressure lets us wing on flying beasts. There might even be useful benefits for Lightning.”
“I have a few ideas,” Estan Bthoovzigk said, standing beside his wife.
“You can do good, too. You can help make things right. Help us, Admiral. Your forces are here. People know that you were with Amiria. With you and the Bishriarch, the transition into peace with the Wrackthar and Agerzaks can be easier.”
She stared into his eyes. “You . . . you would work with me after what I’ve done?”
“I’m tired of killing,” he said, his voice weary. Pain swam in his red eyes. “What will your death bring?”
“Justice to those I murdered.”
“They’re already beyond all of this pain and suffering. They don’t hurt any longer. But the living . . . The living need you, Admiral. What do you say?”
*
Admiral Rnuilsick trembled in Ary’s grip. Tears fell down her dark cheeks. Only streaks of dried blood remained from her scratches. She stared into his eyes. He nodded to her, giving her wrist a squeeze, encouraging her. They needed her help. Those soldiers behind them, the two remaining ships floating above, would follow her lead.
Peace. They had a chance to forge peace. It was worth forgiving the woman for Vesche. Barely.
The dark winds surged through Ary. They raged to explode out of him, to beat the woman to a pulp. His cousins were all dead. People he had grown up with gone. His home destroyed, buried with the rest of Vesche.
If anyone deserved death, she did.
Just like Zori had. But what had she done with the last moments of her life? She’d tried to correct her mistakes. Admiral Rnuilsick could do the same. Her lower lip quivering, she straightened her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice hard. “You really believe I could make a difference?”
Ary let go of her wrist. “I really do.”
“She forgave me.”
Ary’s brow furrowed. “She? Theisseg?”
“For all the sailors and soldiers who died in the pointless war I was too weak to stop. I tried to convince the Emperor it was a mistake. That we would not win much, a few skylands at most. It would weaken us. He didn’t listen. To my shame, I obeyed. My good friend died in my arms. I had to write to his wife, to lie and say he died for something important, and not just the vain ambition of a man living in the shadow of his mother. Amiria forgave me.
“But she wasn’t Riasruo’s daughter. She was Theisseg.”
“You didn’t know,” Ary said, his voice tight.
“I should have.” She took a deep breath. “Riasruo never would have ordered me to burn children alive. Amiria said the words, they sounded so convincing, but . . .” She touched her chest. “I knew it was wrong. It’s why Estan’s words stayed with me after Grush. They wormed into my mind, undermining me. But I refused them. I didn’t want to believe because it meant that I had murdered millions of people for the Dark Goddess.”
“And now you can help fix it. Admiral, I—”
Ary lunged forward to grab her, but he wasn’t fast enough. Her body leaned back and fell into the hole. He cursed, feet sliding to keep himself from following her. Her body slid down the smooth bore through the rocks, picking up speed. She cleared the bottom of the skyland and vanished from his sight.
“Theisseg dammit!” he snarled and smashed the stump of his left fist into the meat of his thigh. “I thought . . . I thought I had her convinced.” His eyes found Chaylene’s. “I’m sick of it. All this death.”
Her arm went around his shoulders. She had no words for him. No one did.
*
The air rushed past Uickthio as she plummeted towards the dark waters below. Falling was so easy. She didn’t have to do anything at all. The pain in her heart eased as she spread her arms. The currents of air whipped past her body, slender tendrils of white that she could seize, could wrap about her flesh and slow her descent.
Uickthio didn’t have to die. She could make things better, work with Briaris and Chaylene and the Bishriarch. Make peace between the Wrackthar and the rest of the sky. She could stand tall despite the weight of all those victims pulling down on her. Too many victims. They would never give her peace.
She didn’t have the strength to stand any longer.
She stared at the water. She took one final breath. The dark surface hurtled closer. Moments before she hit the water, sunlight fell around her. She glimpsed the sun peeking out beneath the bottom of Mupfen, shining with golden brilliance.
Riasruo’s love.
She slammed into the lake’s surface.
Her soul broke free of her body, rising upward into the light of the sun. Ary was right. The pain had vanished. Her heart no longer labored to pump her foul blood through her body. She was so light now.
Rising was even easier than falling.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
“I think that is more than enough for today,” the elderly King Atsaz Yevench of Yoharen said, leaning back in his cushioned chair, the only cushioned seat in the room. “The feast should be ready. Horse steaks seasoned with radishes.”
The man was jolly, reminding Esty of a grandfather. She never knew her maternal grandfather; she had no idea who her father was, let alone who his father was. King Yevench’s beard was a frizzy, white mess, his stomach rotund. He wore a wolf’s pelt as a cloak, a gift from the Wrackthar. She could not imagine the man hunting the lean, dangerous beasts that prowled the world below the Storm.
The world had changed. No more Storm. No more Theisseg. No more hiding Riasruo’s Gifts. Soon, everyone would possess them. Those who survived the coming starvation. No summer meant no crops, a problem for everyone, skyers and grounders alike.
Chaylene was the first out of the chamber, her back stiff, her face tight. She’d hardly spoken a word through the meeting, sitting beside her husband as he’d argued with the surviving Dawn Empire officers. They were a smattering of ship captains and army colonels, including the hulking Captain Azzunsk nsk Wugrez, the commander of the lone surviving Zzuki warship.
There was plenty of conflicts. The Wrackthar and Agerzaks wanted retribution. Then the Dawn Empire officers wanted their payback for Les and the other skylands until Zeirie spoke up and told the truth of that.
“Theisseg did it onboard the Sunrise,” she’d said. “Just like she tried here.” She’d glanced at Captain Azzunsk. “You would have perished if she’d succeeded.”
He only hissed in response, dead eyes watching.
Esty was glad it was over. This day felt never-ending. Though they’d defeated Theisseg, she felt nothing much was accomplished in the aftermath. She wanted to talk real plans, but every time she or her husband put forward practical solutions, another argument broke out about who the real victims were.
“You sent Cyclones to kill us.”
“You tried to destroy our skylands.”
“You pulled down great Swuopii.”
“Your ancestors abandoned us to the Storm.”
On and on. Over and over. It gave her a headache. She didn’t blame Chaylene for her quick exit. Ary was fast on her heels, racing after his wife. Esty rubbed at her head, massaging the pain and wishing Ary hadn’t left. She could use his healing touch.
“Is it . . .?” Estan trailed off, his look concern.
“Just annoyance, not from the illusion.” She gave him a smile, her beaded braids clacking as she turned her head. “I’m fine, Estan. Ary healed whatever She did to me. Okay?”
He unclenched his hand, nodding his head.
The others filed out. Zeirie paused, giving Estan a look before the hulking Zzuki pulled her along. She stumbled, the lizardman hissing something about, “Never had horse.”
“What were you trying to tell them?” She stood and fetched his pegleg leaned against the wall. She frowned at it, the wood scuffed and nicked, the leather of the harness looking worn in places. He needs a new one.
“The Wrackthar lighthouses,” Estan sighed. “They are the key to having any chance of growing crops. We have plenty of glass, the ability to build them both in the skies and the ground, and the gems to power them. We have to get on it right away. Blessings need to be shared.”
“The Bishriarch has already spoken to the Lightweavers through a translator,” Esty said. “That will happen.”
She knelt before him, holding up his pegleg.
“I can do that,” Estan grumbled. “You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, rolling up his pant leg. “But I want to, Estan. It makes me feel better. I’m doing something useful. After that meeting . . .”
Estan nodded as she exposed the stump of his leg, the bottom calloused from months of walking on his fake leg. There were other patches where the harness chafed his skin. He scratched absently at the stump. Sometimes, he felt pain from the leg he’d lost, especially at night while trying to sleep.
“The lighthouses, Esty. We’ll save thousands with them. Tomorrow, we can’t let them get carried away with their arguments. We have to educate them.”
“We will,” she said, slipping the harness over his stump. She moved with practiced skill. There had been times she feared she’d never do this again. Those terrible weeks pretending to be someone else while hiding on the Sunrise, the drudgery of flying on Starfire to Vesche, and then trudging through the ash.
She tightened the straps, tears beading her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Estan asked as she wiped them before standing. “Did you get something in them?”
She shook her head, beads clacking loudly. “Estan, Estan, Estan, you never will understand me.”
“Can anyone actually understand anyone else? We are all an amalgamation of conflicting passions pulling us in this or that direction.”
“Don’t dodge.” She held out her hands. He took them, and she helped her husband stand. “You will never understand me.”
“Not fully, but I trust you. So I do not need to understand you. So, it was not dust; it must have been emotional. It couldn’t be from putting on my pegleg. Is it Zori?” He frowned. “No, you hardly knew her.”
