Chaos undone, p.61
Chaos Undone, page 61
Muted, the God of Death did not face her, no—but her hand met Chaos’, nevertheless. At the moment of touch, anguish fell upon Ilune’s features. When she squeezed, Chaos did not falter, did not move an inch. “I pledge to thee, ancient Goddess of Chaos,” Ilune whispered. “What little power I claim is yours.”
“Thank you—”
But Ilune snatched her hand back. “Get out.”
Despite her clear reluctance, Chaos stepped away. “Your pledge will not be wasted. The world won’t know to thank you, but I will.”
When Chaos turned, anguish rested upon her pretty face, though she could not cry. “Our quest is complete. Ilune should be left to rest.”
To rot, but Sora did not say it, cursed to feel empathy for this murderous woman. Was it a moral lapse to feel compassion for monsters? Or was it growth? Perhaps she had more in common with her sister than she thought.
“Always lovely to meet a fan,” Ayla said. Were she emotionally compromised, she did not show it.
Sora walked ahead, silent all the while.
It was Kah’Sheen who broke the silence, once they’d reached the surface. “Well? Is it working? Is Ilune giving her pledge?”
“She did,” Chaos said numbly.
Kah’Sheen clapped, her own small applause with her four arms. “Then it is complete! No more secret gods.”
A small hum sounded from Ayla. “How do we close this?”
The doors to the prison remained wide open. Sora shoved against one of the massive stone doors, finding it barely budged. “Are there any more puns in the inscription?”
Ayla traversed a few steps down, inspecting the underside of the doors. “There may be something here. Give me a moment.” Chaos moved to join her, but Ayla waved her away. “Stay there, lest I accidentally shut myself in for eternity—”
The words were prophetic. The doors shut above her.
Sora banged on the sealed doors, finding no seam or lines. “Ayla!”
Nothing.
“Dammit. Help me remember the song.”
It took a few tries, but Kah’Sheen proved to be the one with the memory for lyrics. Chaos and Sora managed to sing the doors open again, revealing an impatient Ayla, tapping her shoe. “Exactly as I said.” Ayla emerged, and with one shove, the first of the doors fell with a thunderous bang. “Look at me—overcomplicating everything.”
She shoved the second. The God of Death’s prison shone pristine, as though never breached at all.
“Halfway there,” Chaos said, her sigh long-suffering. “Hopefully the storm has quelled. I don’t quite know how much time has passed in the mortal realm.”
Urgency surged through Sora. “We should hurry. Flowridia is due soon.”
The mists surrounded them once more, and Sora felt no peace.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fifteen years after the end of the world...
Such uncanny abilities the Silver Fire provided. Dira always sensed when Mother was near, drawn to her magic as kin.
How strange, to awaken and feel it but... different. Stronger. New.
Dira quickly dressed, then roused Demitri. “Do you smell anything weird?”
Demitri made a show of sniffing the air. There’s someone here.
Tepid, Dira crept out the door and to the balcony wrapping around the second floor.
Whoever this new guest was, she made no attempt to hide. Already, foreign laughter filled the massive entry room, and when Dira peered down from the balcony, she caught a glimpse of glowing wings.
“And where is the darling girl anyway?”
“She’s on her way down, if my senses are accurate.”
The second voice was Mother. Dira’s hesitation faded away. There was no danger here, and so she headed for the stairs, with Demitri as her shadow.
As she descended, the winged woman came into view, like Etolié yet not. Though she seemed Celestial, her wings held a magnificence that Etolié’s lacked, expanding across the room in shades of silver and gold, the light melding as copper where it touched. Her black hair held luxury, her body flawless and dressed to enhance it, but most engrossing were her silver gaze and smile, instantly holding Dira hostage.
She was beautiful, yes, but... terrifying.
“Good morning, Dira,” Mother said, a slip of a woman compared to this statuesque goddess. “I hope we haven’t alarmed you. I was told you required a tutor in necromancy. Kindly pay your respects to Ilune, the God of Death.”
Dira stood transfixed at the statement. This was a real god? An angel? “I thought angels couldn’t be in the mortal realm.”
“And you are correct,” Ilune said, her voice musical and bright. “My body is in Celestière as we speak. However, not all of us require living vessels, which is a talent I’d be happy to teach you, too.” She approached with superlative confidence, her smile revealing perfect white teeth. She floated up to meet Dira on the stairs, then offered a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Kedira Darkleaf.”
Dira accepted her hand, shaken at how cold and clammy the touch was. “Everyone calls me Dira.”
“Dira it is then. You’re a beautiful girl. You look a lot like your aunt, if I may be so bold.”
Dira perked up. “You know Aunt Sora?”
“As well as anyone can know her. But I hear you had a little incident yesterday.”
Though sheepish to give the details, Dira grimaced through the explanation. “I got angry and destroyed part of the grove with necromancy.”
“That’s what your dear Mother said. I would be more than happy to help discipline those instincts.”
The pressing question remained of how Mother had managed to enlist a god, but Dira bit her tongue. No one would tell her anyway. “Thank you, um, God Ilune.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, revealing Sora in a worn nightshirt, hair mussed and mouth full as she held a plate of steaming bacon. She stopped and stared at the assembly of people.
As Sora struggled to swallow, Ilune floated gracefully down, mischief in her grin. “Well, well—the elusive Sora Makosa. Delightful to see you.”
She smells horrible.
Dira’s heart skipped at Demitri’s voice. For a being so large, the wolf so easily blended in.
The woman is very dead. Double dead, somehow.
“It’s nice to see you,” Sora finally managed, clearly uncomfortable as she none-too-subtly wiped bacon grease from her fingers onto her worn nightshirt. “You seem busy.”
“I am always busy. Celestière seeks to cannibalize itself, but that will happen whether I am there to sow discord against Morathma or not. But today I owe my friend a favor.” Intensity sharpened Ilune’s gaze, even as the melding of gold and silver light prickled at Dira’s memory. “Perhaps you might take a walk with me when I’m done. Just for a short while.”
Perhaps necromancy could wait. The two clearly needed privacy. Sora gave a small nod. “I’ll be ready.”
Dira looked not at them—it seemed so rude to stare—but at Mother, only to notice something strange.
Confusion.
Conspiracy turned the gears in her mind, because Sora kept secrets, kept them for others, kept them behind doors to which Dira had no key.
Except now.
But before Dira could think through her epiphany, Ilune returned her attention to her.
“Come down, won’t you? I won’t bite. Let’s see about aiding this necrotic power of yours.”
* * *
Current era...
“I counted seventy-two floors.”
Flowers cringed. “I counted seventy-five.”
Together with Flowers, Etolié had made something of a mess on her bed, scattered papers of loosely organized castle plans making up the bulk of it. “Well, fuck me.”
“It was likely my doing. I’m the one whose head is chronically spinning.”
“Sounds uncomfortable. I’ll give it another look, though.”
Etolié began her count, pretending she didn’t notice Flowers fall back into existential despair. She did that often—for good reason—but history showed she’d tell on herself eventually.
“My goodness,” Flowers said with a sudden wince, but then she froze, a small gasp leaving her lips.
“You all right? You went all misty-eyed again.”
Flowridia grabbed Etolié’s hand and set it on her stomach. Seconds passed, and Etolié felt pressure from inside Flowers’ stomach, a small poke from within. She gave a begrudging smile. “Fine, that’s fucking cute. Spunky little girl, you got there.”
“It’s perfect,” Flowridia whispered, but then she frowned. “You said ‘girl’.”
Shit. Fuck. Etolié hid her panic behind a smiling face, then settled on blaming her favorite scapegoat—the scientific method. “Well, if there’s any science involved in the making of this little half-blood, it’s a girl.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” Flowridia hugged her stomach, those tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She fell quiet, tension in her slump.
“Flowers?”
Flowridia sniffed back tears, and while Etolié intellectually tried very hard to not care about her feelings, empathy was a far bigger bitch than Flowers.
Starshine...
“Hold on,” Etolié muttered, holding up a finger. In her head, she prayed to Goddess Momma. Hi, Momma. What’s going on?
Well...
Etolié’s eye twitched, because she knew that tone—the tone Staella used when she had some nasty little secret she really didn’t want to tell.
Staella finally continued. Is everything well in the mortal realm?
Given there’s an apocalyptic Old God trying to separate the worlds, you’ll have to be more specific.
You don’t happen to know what your friends are up to, do you?
Ominous little statement, that. I brought them to Ku’Shya’s Realm to get her pledge. They were successful.
You know what, I’m going to speak to Ku’Shya.
Momma, what’s going on?
But Etolié didn’t get an answer.
“Are you all right?” Flowers asked. “You went on quite the facial journey.”
“I know your mother was a piece of shit so you won’t understand that this is meant affectionately, but my momma is terrible at delivering news. Especially bad news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“I don’t know, but she asked if all was well and then where my ‘friends’ were.”
Starshine?
“One moment.” Etolié shut her eyes, settling back into prayer mode. Star Momma?
Did you escort your friends back home?
No, Kah’Sheen was supposed to take them back. Etolié’s stomach dropped, uncertain of what she’d just realized—only that it was bad. Are they all right? Did something happen?
No, no. Just trying to explain a funny conundrum. Can you come home for a moment, sweetheart?
“Um...” Etolié winced as she surveyed Flowers, who looked more corpse-like by the minute, torn between duty and her damn nosy self. “Flowers, my momma wants me to go up to Celestière. Will you die in the next ten minutes?”
Flowridia shrugged. “You should go though.”
Etolié groaned and tore herself from the realm, shooting her body and soul through the planes, her whole being stripped and built anew—
She landed in the desert meadow and vomited on an unfortunate patch of prickly pears. But there was no time to recover. Etolié spat the last bits of bile from her mouth as she ran to Momma’s house. “I’m here!”
The door rolled open, revealing Momma. She held a babbling Soliel, oblivious to whatever panic had the rest in a stir. “Before you come in, I need to make certain that it’s you. What’s the name I always call you?”
Taken aback, Etolié nearly fumbled her answer. “Uh... is this a trick question? It’s Starshine.”
Staella’s smile became tense. “When you were a baby, how did you entertain yourself?”
“I sprayed illusionary glitter all over the house?”
“What’s the name of your favorite horse?”
This had gone on long enough. “I fucking hate horses.”
Staella’s stance finally relaxed. “All right. Come in.”
Though baffled, Etolié obeyed, then froze at the mess she beheld.
It wasn’t to say Staella’s house was ever clean. But the trail of clutter seeped out from the kitchen, pots and kettles strewn across the front living space. Etolié ran to the kitchen, only to behold a whirlwind. “What the fuck?! Momma, were you robbed?”
“I don’t think anything’s missing. I’m a little disoriented though.”
Etolié followed the mess, realizing it had all fallen from a cupboard beside Momma’s iron stove. “Then what happened—?”
But Etolié’s words dried up when she saw what rested peacefully in the back. Tucked deliberately away, a purple teapot with a shoddy, child’s paint job radiated pure fucking evil. Etolié knelt and cautiously withdrew the cursed object, noting her momma’s sudden look of horror. “You were supposed to get rid of this.”
Staella set Soliel down, ushering him into the ruined kitchen. “I said I would take care of it. Not get rid of it.”
“Well, it’s still cursed, so may-fucking-haps the Breaker of Curses should get on that.” When Staella offered to take it, Etolié held it out of reach.
“I think we should focus on the problem at hand, Starshine,” Staella said, reaching again for the teapot—which Etolié continued to keep away. And while Etolié prided herself on her expert reading of body language, Momma’s sudden shift into anger left her reeling. “Please be careful with that.”
Startled, when Staella reached a final time, Etolié let her steal it, suspicious when her momma cradled it like a baby. “That was in the exploding cupboard.”
“This isn’t the focus of our problem, Starshine.”
“Did it possibly cause the explosion, Momma?”
To add further suspicion, Staella ripped a small line in the air with her finger—not unlike Casvir—and stuffed the teapot inside, before closing it with a wave. “Will you please listen?”
Etolié nodded, though half her attention was kept with Soliel, who had begun banging on a stray pot with a spoon.
Staella lowered her voice, as though even the walls could hear. “I was in the garden with Soliel. Something... strange happened. I felt something shift in my meadow. The energy, it... it was wrong. And then I heard a commotion inside my house. When I ran inside, it was already like this.”
Still, something was suspicious. Momma wasn’t a liar, but she could withhold the truth. “You didn’t call for help?”
“I called for you.”
“Only after you investigated the mess. What if someone had broken in?”
“Who could possibly?”
“I don’t know, Momma. Who?” Etolié bit back her terse words, frustrated by a great many things. “What did the teapot do?”
Momma’s hesitation spoke volumes. “You weren’t supposed to see the teapot.”
“Is it a portal? Does it summon evil things?”
“No and no... but also not entirely no on either.”
Everything was wrong, and Etolié’s gut screamed with no cause. “Momma, what did you do?”
“Well, something fell out of my cupboard, and given Ku’Shya’s tantrum in Sha’Demoni right now, I have a hunch as to, uh, what. I just wonder if, perhaps, your friends had anything to do with it, given the nature of their quest.”
Etolié blinked, surely unprepared.
Pain showed in Momma’s wince. “I need you to promise me you won’t breathe a word about the teapot.”
“Is it really that important?!”
Thankfully, Momma did have a spine, so while she cringed at the yell, she didn’t fold or falter. “Yes.”
“I fucking swear. Now for the love of god—”
“Ilune.”
The name brought Etolié’s thoughts to a stuttering stop. “What.”
“I felt Ilune in my house, Starshine. She escaped from prison.”
Truthfully, Etolié had little foundation to stand on for how to feel about this. “Wait, what does that have to do with the teapot—” Etolié gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth. Through muffled fingers, Etolié said, “It’s her phylactery.”
Staella shrugged in a way to definitely confirm without confirming.
“For a thousand years, you...” Etolié stared down her diabolical Momma, whose layers never ceased to end. “It was in the back of your fucking closet.”
“Technically, it was in the kitchen just now.”
Etolié said nothing, simply felt the world spin.
“I don’t know what she’s going to do,” Staella said, voice lowering once more. “Ku’Shya is having an understandable meltdown. But I need to know—did your friends go find Ilune and get her pledge?”
“Literally, I don’t know. Doesn’t no one know where she is except Ku’Shya?”
“Ku’Shya and Sol Kareena, or so I thought too.”
As Etolié’s mind wrapped around this strange new world, again, she realized she had no idea what to feel at all. “Am I in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Khastra?”
“Etolié, it’s been a thousand years in your world. More or less for Ilune, depending on where her prison was. Either way, I don’t know where her mind is at. I doubt she even knows you exist.”
Etolié nodded, the pressing reality of time starting to tick in her head. “Are you going to be safe?”
“I suspect if she wanted me dead, she would have done it already. But I already called for Eionei, just in case. And Ku’Shya was quite insistent that I could stay with her.”
Etolié offered her hand, grounded by small degrees when Staella squeezed it. “I’ll interrogate my friends. Can you send me back to Nox’Kartha? You’re much better at it.”
Staella smiled and obeyed.
Etolié’s steps spun as she appeared back in Flowridia’s medical suite, shoved back into reality by the presence of guests.
Sora sat on the bed beside Flowers, releasing her from a quick hug. Kah’Sheen was here—highly suspicious—and Ayla lurked uncomfortably behind Sora, trying very hard not to stare at the bouquet on the table.
