21

  Caru stepped into the torrent and screamed. Colors seared his vision, but none of it seemed real. Mieta and Kimke were in here somewhere, and surely no more than twenty feet away. His heartbeat echoed within his chest, and his throat burned as he howled in pain, but he muted all of that as he faced the power within this place. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

  Kimke’s silhouette, barely visible in the distance, staggered forward before she fell to her knees with hands pressed to either side of her head. She crept forward, though. She could move, and so could Caru.

  Mieta had to be in here.

  He couldn’t seem to stop screaming. It was like being lost in the Tempest, but so much worse. The Tempest had threatened to destroy his body with wind, rain, and lightning, but the Pillar wanted much more than that from him. He felt as if his body were being ripped away, and sensation that his soul would collapse into the aether at any moment. He wondered briefly if Drend had been luring them into a trap the whole time. No, no time to think of that. He fought forward, one foot before the other, advancing through the wailing aether.

  “Mieta!” he shouted. No response. Damn the woman!

  Caru raised his hands and pressed his palms against his ears to try and block the cacophony. Specks floated across his vision, swirling colors flecked with gold. Another footfall, this one so staggering that he fell and landed facedown on the ground. Sound flooded his mind again, and he struggled to right himself. His hand shook against the rocks. With muscles struggling to respond, he collapsed in a heap before he could regain his footing.

  “Mieta!” he yelled again. His face pressed against the rocks, and he knew her name wouldn’t travel. He thought he heard someone screaming; was it Mieta or Kimke, or one of the other ermen? Something shook his shoulder, but it only became harder to focus. Why was there so much pain? Damn Drend for bringing us here! Damn the man!

  “Wake up.” The voice was clear, a beacon.

  Caru pushed harder against the ground, but he couldn’t rise. He floundered, praying for strength so he could stand and meet the voice. No, his body only shook harder. His teeth hurt as his jaw clenched, but he couldn’t fight the rift’s power. The shaking against his shoulder grew stronger, but he barely felt it, leaving the world to swim through colors before fading, fading, fading…

  “Wake up!” The voice sounded panicked, but far away. The world beneath him shook rhythmically. Colors faded to gray, and gray faded to black. He closed his eyes.

  He sat up quickly as he screamed. Mieta backed away from him, hitting her head on the other side of the cabin as the train rumbled along the track. Caru sagged against the bed and saw the woodwork of the bunk above him. Panic faded to embarrassment as he turned to face Mieta. Had she awakened him? Why did his head pound so? Why did he feel like he’d been in pain only moments ago? He pressed a hand to his forehead and exhaled as he sank back against the pillow.

  “Bad dream?” she asked, smiling.

  Caru closed his eyes. “Something like that. I dreamed…something. I don’t remember what happened. We were fighting, I think.”

  “Us? Fight? That doesn’t sound like us.”

  It felt good to laugh. “I guess not. What would we have to fight about?” He slowly rose, feeling muscles protest in a way that seemed to countered the night’s rest. The cabin floor felt strange, rough.

  Mieta laughed as well, quiet and peaceful. Her hair was shimmering black, her eyes a deep, pale green. She was tall for a human, but that only made her seem more elegant. The train was soothing, the way it rumbled over the tracks. The sound drowned out all others, and the rocking sensation suddenly reminded Caru of his childhood, cradled in his mother’s arms as she whispered stories and sang lullabies. What had brought him to this train? He tried to remember, but Mieta’s luminous eyes clouded his mind. Had he really awakened screaming?

  “Where are Kimke and Martel?” he asked with sudden, sharp recollection.

  Mieta still laughed, eyes sparkling so beautifully. “Martel is dead, silly.”

  Caru gasped. His vision blurred at the edges, threatening to block out everything except the raven-haired woman across from him. “Martel… Mieta?” Something was wrong.

  “You don’t remember?” she asked. “He told you to run away, and you did. You left him to die. He must have thought you a coward in his final moments.”

  “No, that can’t be.” Caru clutched a hand against his chest and felt his legs give way. He slid off the cot and shuddered on the floor, fighting back the flood of memories, memories of Martel being obliterated in the bloodmage’s deathflare. No, Martel had told him to run. Right? He had ran because Martel’s sacrifice would have been meaningless otherwise.

  “Ferrak was delirious before he died,” Mieta said, lips twisting into a sinister grin. “You could have killed him before he had time to shape that deathflare. Martel didn’t have to die, but you weren’t strong enough to stop it.” She laughed at him, mocking his weakness.

  No. Impossible.

  “I did what—“

  “What he wanted?” Mieta finished for him. “What he asked? Do you keep telling yourself that to assuage your guilt? Do you fool yourself with that? It may help you sleep ever so peacefully, but what about Kimke? Poor thing.”

  “What about her?”

  “You don’t know, since you slept so well,” Mieta said with a laugh. “She ran out crying before I woke you. You must have heard the sobbing. She ran to the back of the train, said she was going to throw herself on the tracks. I imagine she’s quite dead by now, or at least dying. All because you couldn’t do what you needed to do.”

  “Mieta,” Caru said. “Please.” He raised a hand and scrubbed tears away. He kept sliding until he lay on the floor and drew his knees up tight against his chest. Her words had filled him with shame, but also something else. “No. No, this is wrong.”

  “And what of me?” Mieta continued. “Mieta, the human girl, never good enough for a blessed erman. I was never one of you, was I? I threw my entire life away to follow you, and I still wasn’t good enough!” She laughed openly, and the gentleness was gone from her voice.

  Madness.

  “I should have never helped you that night,” she said. “Do you think I meant that apology? I thought you were weak for letting yourself get captured, and you proved me right. You only escaped because you lost control. You were never strong enough to keep going, but Martel could tell you that.”

  Caru wailed to block out her words, not caring if anyone outside heard. If anyone passing overheard the conversation, he might be imprisoned yet again, again thrown into a cell back in Garenesh. Everything was going to unravel, and it was all his fault.

  “You’re weak. Did you know that? Martel is dead, Kimke is dead, and I’m probably going to die soon because of you.”

  “Shut up!” he shouted. He drew will and pushed himself up. “I did what I could with what I had! Could I have done more? Could I have done something else? Probably. Certainly. I never asked for any of this. All I ever wanted was to have my life back. You know? That’s all I ever wanted. But every step away only led to another step and another step, and things kept spiraling, and I wasn’t suited for it. But I did the best I could and more. I wanted to give up more times than I want to think about, but I kept going. For me, for you, for Kimke, and for Martel. And now he’s dead, and I’m a little more hollow on the inside, but I never backed down.” He looked up and saw Mieta looking down at him, the grin now gone as she watched. “I could have done things differently, but I’ll never get those chances. I’m not a leader, and I’m not a fighter, but I never backed down.”

  Mieta and the train melted away into twisting vapors.

  His throat burned as he rolled onto his back and stared up into the aether column. His hands scrambled for traction. Was he further in than he had been, or had he made it a mere few steps before falling? What he’d seen hadn’t been real, had instead been some twisting hallucination within the aether. Surely Mieta didn’t think he was weak like that. Did she? He shouted again, desperate to find her. Caru closed his eyes and pressed forward, crawling on hands and knees. Minutes passed before he raised his head and saw another silhouette in the torrent, a figure lying prone before him. He mustered his strength and advanced. It must be either Mieta or Kimke. He crawled forward and slid over rocks, pebbles biting against his chest and stomach. He reached out and closed a hand around the woman’s ankle. He screamed louder as he pulled at the woman and rolled her over with his fading strength.

  Mieta stared upward, eyes distant. He fingers twitched and scratched violently against the ground and her feet kicked wildly as she screamed loudly enough to match Caru’s own shouts.

  With a flash, the pain was gone. The heavy weight of that place lifted from his shoulders, and the beam itself dissolved into nothingness. Sunlight shone down, but that couldn’t be right. He blinked as he tried to reason it out, but nothing made sense. Though his own pain was gone, Mieta still screamed and thrashed as vigorously as before.

  “Pathetic creatures, both of you.”

  Caru turned to see who was with them, but invisible bonds had clamped his arms at his sides and held his legs together. A thick boot shoved into his ribs, kicking roughly enough to roll him onto his back so that he stared into the blue sky. Blood Emperor Theop smiled down at him, dressed in full royal regalia, even down to the ceremonial sword he held in his right hand. Droplets of blood cascaded away from its edge as Theop swung it to his side. He laughed, and Caru saw the scarlet trickle between Theop’s fingers, staining the hilt before dripping onto the blade.

  Of course. All Blood Emperors were bloodmages, and that blood magic would be what kept Caru bound.

  Caru readied himself to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t work properly. Instead, he only groaned. He arched his back and strained his muscles against the bonds, but nothing broke the hold. Theop shifted his boot to Caru’s stomach and pressed hard. Caru grunted against the force and coughed into a hacking wheeze.

  “You let your own kind die,” Theop said. “It cost me one of my best men, but I still am amazed that you would let one of your own kind die before you.” The words burned, as difficult to hear from an enemy as they had been from Mieta. “So many others died because of you. At least twenty soldiers on that night two weeks ago. Probably more. I understand the other erman was named… Kimke, was it?” The Blood Emperor held his sword before him, smiling. “You should know by now that not all of the blood on this blade is my own. You should have heard the way Kimke screamed as I slit her pretty little neck. Bled like a pig, she did. You killed one of mine. I killed one of yours. That’s a fair trade, yes?” He laughed. “Well, maybe I killed more than one of yours. There were so many of your kind in the Tempest.”

  Mieta still screamed toward the sky. Sweat soaked through her clothes as she howled, straining against unseen forces.

  Theop turned his gaze to her. “Tell me,” he said. “If you are so willing to let your own kind die, how would you feel about letting a human die? I wonder.” Caru tried to move, but the constraints of the blood magic stopped him. Instead, he groaned and twisted, thrashing against the captivity, but Theop ignored him. Instead, he knelt at Mieta’s side and let his bloodied sword rest on her stomach as he leaned forward to inspect her. “Pretty thing, isn’t she? Pity what I’m about to do to her.” He spoke in gentle, mocking tones. “Let’s see what you think of this, erman.” He raised his arm and angled the blade’s tip downward. Theop grunted as he plunged the weapon, laughing as Mieta’s blood gushed against his face. Her cries of agony never changed pitch, even with blood dribbling from her mouth. She’d never even paused for breath as the blade had cut into her.

  Caru flailed against Theop’s bonds but didn’t have the strength to move. If only he had wings! No, Theop had taken those as well. That man, he’d given the order. Why? It had been so long since Caru’s escape, but he still didn’t have an answer to that one simple question.

  Theop turned, smiling as he watched Caru’s struggle. ‘Well, it seems you feel something for humans, after all,” he said. “Or at least one. Bonds wouldn’t stop the hatred raging through Caru. Struggling was useless, but he could at least die defiant. Theop knelt before he lunged forward and sank the tip of his sword into Caru’s stomach.

  Caru screamed and was surprised to hear his voice was no longer muffled. The pain was still intense, though. His body arched upward as the Blood Emperor vanished. The sun and sky faded, and the aether column returned, humming yet again with its terrible energy. The Pillar was a thing of illusion, apparently. Illusion and pain.

  Mieta still lay on the ground next to him, unmoving. He stared at her with dull comprehension. Every vision would have Mieta either hurting him or dying, whatever this Pillar could project.

  Even as he watched, her skin ruptured in places along her face, her neck, her arms. Blood gushed out and flashed gold before disappearing. It didn’t matter if this vision would hurt him. He wanted to see her face. He knew what she was like in the real world. She wouldn’t hurt him, especially not as the illusion on the train would have had him think.

  She opened her eyes and met his stare as he rested at her side. Both lay there together, shaking. She winced each time another cut opened, but she didn’t cry out. “Is it you?” she asked before relenting and screaming again. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could read the words on her lips.

  Caru tried to speak but only managed a nod.

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  This illusion was strange, gentler than the others, even with the rift’s howling and the horror of her bleeding. Caru wondered if he was any better. Something scraped the ground behind him, and he felt it in his bones.

  “Me, too,” Caru said after a moment’s pause.

  The torrent raged as Caru waited for the illusion to end.

  —

  The world reeled sickeningly as Theop fell to the floor. For several hours now, he had found it increasingly difficult to pull aether to drift through the halls of Dresk’s royal palace. Each moment spent in the air had felt like one spent in a dead sprint. And then, suddenly, the ability vanished altogether, and he found himself sprawled on the carpeted hallway. He planted his hands against the floor and pushed to right himself.

  Steel slid from scabbards and echoed in the otherwise silent hall as Hibranth and his escort stood fanned at Theop’s rear, facing down unarmed Dreskian soldiers. Theop dusted himself off as he nodded to his general. Hibranth made a motion, and the Seranian guard resheathed their weapons. None of the Dreskians had made a move to attack, but Hibranth and his men looked as though they were ready to die.

  King Cyril, Protector of Dresk by title, wheezed as he spoke, weaving a path through his own honor guard. “Peace, friend,” the old man said. “We have surrendered and mean you no harm. We will honor our terms.” Cyril was well into his seventies, and the age wore on him heavily. He walked with a severe stoop, supporting himself with a gnarled oaken staff. Long white hair fell over his shoulders, nearly to his waist. He was old, but he had been cared for. His actions may be slow, but Theop knew him to be a man of fierce intentions.

  Theop closed his eyes for a moment and focused to bring his wings behind his back again. The fall worried him to the point that he had not realized they were splayed out with the primary feathers bristling. Two of the bloodmages—bearing the insignias of majors—stood poised with daggers pressed against their palms. Thankfully, both had stopped short of drawing blood. The Dresk surrender had been difficult enough and would only get tougher if the Dreskians learned the Seranian military had slaughtered the king in his own palace. Theop considered his decision wise to leave the Seranian riflemen stationed on the palace’s perimeter walls. They tended to be quick to pull a trigger if the mood took them; had they witnessed the Blood Emperor’s fall, Theop knew that several of Cyril’s mean would have been dead already.

  Theop did not care for the Dreskian king’s tone when he spoke of honoring his terms, but he knew the man was aware of his new station in the world. “At ease, Seranians,” Theop said.

  Hibranth lowered his longsword as he glanced back to Theop. “You are well, my lord?”

  “Yes,” Theop said. He wondered if Hibranth cared at all about his Blood Emperor’s well-being. “Fear no Dresk plot. As the lord king said, the Dreskians are people of their word and will honor the treaty to which they agreed.”

  Cyril nodded but did not speak.

  Theop barely kept himself from sighing with relief as the bloodmages put their daggers away. A careless ball of flame would light the wooden palace like a festival torch.

  Hibranth offered Cyril a modest bow. “My apologies,” he said. “I only fear for the safety of the Blood Emperor.” He then turned again to Theop. “You startled me, and I behaved in a way unbecoming of a general. I beg your forgiveness, my lord.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The fall had been startling, Theop had to admit. Were the wings already becoming defective after such a short time? No, impossible. He flapped them and felt no pain. They were not coming unattached, at least. Cyril stared openly at the display, but he quickly collected himself. The surgery and spells to graft the wings to Theop’s body had been grievous, and he did not wish to go through that torment again. If they would not remain, though, he could look forward to a repeating cycle. The wings seemed stable enough, but that worry gnawed in his mind. He gave them a final, satisfactory flap before nodding. “You are forgiven, general. I shall try to maintain better coordination in the future.” Theop glanced at Cyril. “Shall we continue, friend?”

  “As you say,” the old king said.

  Cyril left his honor guard behind so he could walk at Theop’s side, hobbling along the hallway to the throne room, staff rapping loudly against the thin carpet with each step. Theop kept an even pace—walking now—so that the king would not flag behind.

  “What are you intentions with this…merger?” Cyril asked. The Dreskian king had initially feared that he would lose all authority in his homeland—or that he would lose his life—when Theop’s armies approached, but Theop knew it would be best to leave the old man in power. The Dreskian people would be more compliant under their own ruler, even if he was only a king in name and little more than a regent in reality. The assault against Dresk had been only to deliver a powerful and straightforward message, nothing more. Serana had conquered her eastern neighbor; it would not be necessary to eradicate it.

  “Quite simple,” Theop said. “I seek the unification of the human race. That is all.”

  The king snorted loudly. Theop felt Hibranth’s tension, but the general otherwise remained silent. “You seek human unification, but those were humans you blew apart!” Cyril said. “You rushed your military to the border in your trains and burned your way to the capital almost before we knew we were being attacked. This was planned long ago, I know. How many human lives ended today because of this march of yours? You butcher humans in the name of unification and expect us to comply?”

  “Shall I check his tongue?” one of the bloodmages muttered.

  The bloodmage may have restrained himself earlier, but Theop would appreciate even more that he not wag his tongue unbidden. “That is not necessary, major. We are in the presence of allies, and they may speak freely.” Theop turned to Cyril. “My apologies. Shall I check his tongue for you?”

  The man grimaced, ignoring the joke. With a flippant gesture, Cyril stooped again and continued the short walk to his throne room. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I know it can be difficult to keep good soldiers in line at times.”

  Theop smiled, falling in alongside the king again. How long since Dresk had known war? Forty years? Fifty? The old man knew nothing of what it meant to maintain a military.

  “You do see the advantages of unification, do you not?”

  “Unification? Against whom?” Cyril turned to eye Theop’s multicolored wings, then back to the throne room. “Pfaw. Against the ermen? They want our money, not our lands. They mean humanity no more harm than Dresk meant Serana. ”

  Theop grinned. “Perhaps not, but if they ever should, I believe an erman assault against humanity would go nearly as unhindered as a Seranian assault against Dresk.”

  The king’s grip tightened against his staff, but he said nothing. Good. Perhaps he would be decently cowed soon enough.

  “I speak of preparedness, friend,” Theop said. “Humanity remains free, but at the will of ermen? What kind of freedom is that? Humanity deserves to stand on its own, not at the whim of erman mercy.”

  “We have nothing the ermen cannot have,” Cyril said. “They trade with us, dine with us, dance with us, laugh with us. Some of my best friends, my most loyal confidants, are ermen. No, they mean us no harm. They may have their own brand of magic with their aether flows, but they see us as equals. When have you ever known an erman to strike down a human? It happens, but they police themselves well enough that I can think only of a few sparse cases. When has Edaria ever moved to harm us, to conquer us? It does not happen.”

  “But it could,” Theop insisted.

  “And now it well may. We never provoked them to violence, and they have reciprocated, never seeking to anger us. They permeate our world, but now you have assaulted them, and worse.” Cyril’s eyes flicked to the wings again. “Young ruler, in your quest to free humanity from imagined erman chains, I wonder if you have not instead set us on a path to humanity’s doom.”

  Foolishness. “We shall see.”

  The parties passed through the huge arches that led into the throne room. Large, open windows gave a lovely view of the night sky outside. Both moons were full now, nearly lighting the sky as well as any dusk. Theop found himself studying the moons. Strange that he had never really paid attention to the lunar cycles before.

  “And if I do raise erman ire,” Theop continued, “I mean to make sure humanity can withstand it.”

  “As you say.” Cyrill handed his staff to a nearby aide before taking a staggering step toward his throne. He climbed the dais slowly and seemed relieved when he sat down in the padded wooden seat. He exhaled loudly before reclining, and turned to look down at Theop. It would be good to let the old man think he still had some position of power.

  “I have not seen ermen in your city,”Theop said, pacing before the throne of Dresk.

  “Then you have lose track of time,” Cyril said. “Tonight is the night they return to Edaria. Their Void Moon. Surely you’ve noticed the brightness outside.”

  Theop turned to look out the windows again. Of course. And they would have fled from Garenesh as well. Had it been only a month since his men had captured those three ermen? A pity he could not have spoken with the captives themselves before they had fled. That still proved its own paradox. Surely they had been weakened during both nights each month, but…

  Aha!

  “But with your recent assault,” Cyril continued, “I must say that leaving was a good idea. Even some of the human citizens fled the capital as your armies advanced, even though we had already agreed to your terms.”

  “Does every erman always leave Dresk during this night?” Theop asked, maintaining his own train of thought instead of catering to Cyril’s.

  “When Rythellas is full?” The old king frowned in thought. “They’re supposed to, but a few might stay behind every now and again. Maybe once every few months, some diplomat might remain in the palace if they’re especially behind in their work.”

  “I see. And when Rythellas is new?”

  Cyril tapped his fingers against the arms of his throne. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “A mere handful when it’s full, and all are gone when it’s new. Surely it’s the same in Serana?”

  “I’m afraid I do not keep enough ermen nearby to keep track of their movements,” Theop said. So on the night of Rythellas in its new phase, every erman left, and it was on that night that the three wingless prisoners had managed their escape. Not weakened on both nights, but quite the opposite. If he should be so affected by Rythellas when it was full, then surely the opposite would be true as well. He already held unimaginable power, but if Rythellas offered some sort of amplification on that night, he would be a deity among both men and ermen. “We have much to do,” Theop said. “I need organization between our peoples, ad we have only two weeks.”

  Confusion spread over Cyril’s features. “Two weeks?”

  Even Hibranth was taken aback, frowning before apparently losing himself in thought.

  “Yes. We strike quickly. Make preparations to march on Chasar as soon as possible.” Theop turned to Hibranth. “General, you are to relinquish leadership of troops with us in Dresk to an officer of your choosing. You are then to return to Garenesh and seek Detar’s advice in order to prepare the remaining Seranian troops for a campaign into Chasar. Wait a short while, and I will come to you soon to coordinate our advance.” A look back to Cyril. “We will need Dreskian troops with us, if you will permit.” Theop would not give the king the ability to refuse, but he could grant him that illusion.

  “I think it madness,” the old king said. “Yet.” He exhaled, closing his eyes and likely bracing himself against the decision he would be forced into making. “We’re bound and powerless.”

  “King Cyril!” one of his men said.

  “Silence, General Terane,” Cyril said. “We cannot afford to lose more Dreskian soldiers than necessary, and I will see to that.” He grimaced and glanced to Theop before looking to Terane. Theop pretended not to see that moment of disgust. It mattered not. “Heed my words, and we shall save who we can.”

  As the king spoke, Theop felt the weight of the world in his hands. His wings rubbed against each other in excitement. Two weeks.

  —

  Mieta’s pain seemed to mirror his won. Her face twisted haggardly as she howled against the Pillar’s fury. It was difficult to see her; the ever-shifting colors largely blurred her from Caru’s vision. She clutched her hands tightly against her body, screaming and shaking. He felt much the same. How long? Had he ever known a time without pain. No matter. These were all illusions. They had to be.

  Caru watched his mother burst into flame. Martel ran him through with a foot of Seranian steel. “Justice for a coward,” he’d called it. Kimke dove into the wall of the Eternal Tempest only to be annihilated a moment later by a rogue lightning strike. Drend and the other ermen beneath Edaria led Caru to a slaughter.

  Pain and death, pain and death.

  His spasming fingers dug long rivulet in the hard, stony soil. Spatters of blood stained the ground around him and Mieta as well, but they were thankfully difficult to see through the aether. Something tore at his back, but he couldn’t make himself turn and see. Mieta was still bleeding and flashing gold in long rhythms. She pounded her fists against the dirt as she screamed.

  Ferrak scorched Caru’s body while taunting him for being powerless enough to lose his wings at all. Cirellias shattered like glass, showering the planet with deadly debris, killing Caru and everyone else. Guards entered his cramped cell with blades bared, done with useless torture and coming to be rid of him. They laughed as his screams echoed through the halls of Garenesh’s armory days before Rythellas would again turn Soulless. He felt a cry rising in his throat as the blades pierced his back. They sawed back and forth, tearing at his flesh.

  The only persistent illusion was Mieta. It hurt to watch her writhing in such a way, but hers was the only image that did not harm him, kill him, or call him a coward. Through the torment, she was the only one that showed compassion or seemed to care, reaching a comforting hand toward him in moments of lucidity between bouts of agony. With fists clenched, he crawled forward on his stomach. That image of her he kept in his mind was the only one that gave him a word of kindness. She was a dim figure seen through a sea of stars. He gritted his teeth tightly enough that he feared they might splinter. Only one thing in this torrent would end his pain, and he meant to find it. Bloodmages, storms, the world’s leaders, nothing would hold him back. He wrapped an arm around Mieta’s back and drew closer to her.

  Caru could still feel the guards’ blades sawing through his back. Such pain that he would have thought impossible to endure.

  He cradled himself against Mieta and wove fingers into her silken hair. From somewhere came soothing noises as he stroked her. Mieta’s eyes were distant, tears flowing freely down her face.

  The image twisted before him. Caru tried to focus, but she, the world, the Pillar, and everything else disappeared, leaving only an endless expanse of black void.

  “Strange, isn’t it?”

  Kimke walked before him as surely as on solid ground. She wore no shirt or dress above her waist; instead, she was clad only in bloodied bandages. “You had such a vendetta against humans after your escape, didn’t you?”

  Caru didn’t speak, opting instead to watch as she wove a wide circle about him.

  “You found them so… disgusting, didn’t you? Strange how one person can change your outlook on an entire race.”

  “No,” Caru said. “It wasn’t Mieta that changed my views.”

  “Who, then?”

  Caru gritted his teeth before spitting the name. “Theop!”

  Kimke nodded, clasping her hands behind her back and studying her feet as she paced through the oblivion surrounding them. “He did show you the worst of humanity,” she said. “Men under his command, they preyed upon the weakest of us. Beaten, interrogated, they broke our bones, only to heal us so they could break us again.” She looked up, met his eyes. “Does this form bother you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Caru said.

  She laughed. “I may look like Kimke, but you must know by now that I am not. I am here to help you realize what you already know, and that is more than you think.” She paused and took a long breath. Caru wondered if breathing was necessary. “I think you are beginning to understand this place.”

  Caru nodded. “I think perhaps I am.”

  Kimke gave a broad smile. “Which image of humanity is correct, then? Mieta or Theop?”

  “Mieta,” Caru said without hesitation.

  Kimke sighed and pushed blonde hair back over her shoulders. “You think humans are incapable of causing pain, then? They cannot make one suffer? Surely you remember the beatings you endured from them as they tried to extract the secrets of your race. Were they kind when they broke your arms and legs? You say that Mieta is your proper view of humanity, but is she? Is she really?”

  Perplexed, Caru said, “Theop?”

  “Hardly. You really want to base your views of humanity on that one? Remember that Mieta did abandon her life—mundane, though comfortable—to follow you even though she barely knew you. She showed mercy amidst your pain, showed you kindness when you had had your fill of her people.”

  “Then what is the answer?”

  Kimke smiled again, this time slowly twisting her form until Mieta stood before him. “Both,” Mieta said, the smile never leaving her. “It is foolhardy to base all that you know on one person. You will either blind yourself to kindness or cruelty, when you should be vigilant for both. You once saw a human man dancing with an erman woman in Lieve. Do you think he meant her harm? Would he have lain down his life for her? Either may have been true, but which would you be more likely to believe? Most likely, he was somewhere in the middle. Would he have harmed her? Probably not. Would he have died for her? Again, most likely not. You wondered once why it was not easier to tell good people from the bad. It’s simple, really. There may be a few good people and a few bad people, but—“

  “Most of the time, they’re neither,” Caru finished.

  “Exactly,” Mieta said with a cheerful bob. “People—humans or ermen—are capable of great good and great evil. Paragons may exist, but are no more abundant than the truly evil. Most people can be convinced to become good, but evil is its own temptation. What of you, Caru Freehaven? Good or evil? I hope you find the strength to decide.”

  Caru nodded solemnly.

  “What of Theop, then? Good or evil?”

  “Evil,” Caru said. The anger stained his heart and quickened his pulse. “He tortured three ermen for his own ends. He took our wings!” He closed his fists until his fingernails bit blood from the heels of his hands. Distant, swirling colors sprang to life in the void, red to mirror his own thoughts.

  “Evil to you, perhaps,” Mieta said. “Did you ever think he may have had pure intentions?”

  “No. That’s madness.”

  “Possibly,” she said, “but to his mind? Doing good sometimes does have a cost. Building a dam is good for the village, but condemned by the people in homes further upstream. Theop, however, is misguided. He exceeds his rights, even as a ruler. He may have had his people’s well-being in mind, but what he did was profane. I think you will be even more surprised by his actions than you already are. He was wrong in the beginning, but things are even worse now that he has been further tainted by greed and power. Neither you, nor Kimke, nor Martel revealed the secrets of your people. That is commendable. You do have strength, and I hope it is enough strength to find the determination within yourself. What does Theop know of aether? What can he know of the Void or Soulless Moons?”

  “Why would that be important to him anyway?” Caru asked. How long since his pain faded. At least this illusion was peaceful. At least this one was finally, seemingly, willing to help.

  “Ask yourself why Mieta saw the detached wings so carefully preserved after their removal. Why was Theop so determined? Understand this: he may have a bull’s strength, but he has a child’s mind in one regard. Perhaps his intentions were pure at some point, but good can dwindle as motivations change. How long before his corruption is complete?”

  “We’ll put an end to him,” Caru said.

  “Perhaps,” Mieta said. “Do not think that calling yourself ‘good’ means that you can overcome the strength of will of an ‘evil’ man. You must have greater will. I can feel him only through the memories that you, Kimke, and Mieta share, but I do wish I could meet this Blood Emperor Theop.” She smiled and stopped her pacing. “Now, Caru, do you think yourself a coward?”

  He closed his eyes, searching for an answer.

  “Sacrifice is noble.” The words came in a low, booming voice. Caru opened his eyes to see Mieta replaced with Martel. The man smiled, at least. “I died so that you might protect Kimke and Mieta. You may call yourself a coward for leaving me behind, but you did as I asked. You even went as far as to keep Kimke from killing herself after my death. Why do you consider the strength to die more worthy than the strength to live? If you had stayed behind, you would have thrown your life away, and then what of Kimke and Mieta? You’ve kept them going, my friend. I only hope you find the strength to continue forward. You may think yourself a coward, but you’re here in this rift beneath Edaria. You came of your own accord, but what drove you in? You had given up on getting your wings back by then. You dove into the Tempest because you saw Kimke and thought only to save her. You will have strength.”

  Martel dissolved, turning into Theop. “You will need to find strength to defeat true evil, such as it exists. Alert others, fight, take whatever path you think is correct. It will take strength,” Theop said. “Determination. Show me and this world your will. Take what you know of the Seranian Blood Emperor and exploit what you can. You’ll find he has tremendous strength, but he has an obvious, glaring weakness. Use what you can.”

  Theop melted in turn, his form once changing once again to Kimke’s. She was not clad in bandages this time, but rather in a yellow dress of long, flowing silk. Bright golden wings arced from her back, flexing as she spoke. “How many times will you save her—my—life?” she asked. “You spirited her away from her captive city, kept her from killing herself, and saved her from an unending storm. You can save her from herself, but do not forget her grief. She knew Martel longer than you by years and had grown to love the man. You know that. What is it like to face the death of someone like that? Her heart aches still, not only for what was lost, but for the loss of what could have been. Remember that, should she ever try to deal with that grief alone again.”

  Caru nodded as Kimke again shifted into Mieta. “Caru,” she said. “Why did I ever follow you? I never knew in the beginning how things would turn out or how I might eventually feel, but yet… I think we’re sometimes given very little say in matters of the heart. Strange, I suppose. Humans and ermen together, they’re not unheard of, but I do know such things are hard to cope with. You think I’ve always shown you so much kindness, but you’ve done the same. You make me feel included at times when I feel like nothing more than the outsider, the human girl. I hope things work out between us.”

  “You’re just another illusion,” Caru said.

  “I am, but maybe I know more than your own mind.” She smiled. “I think perhaps I’ve only said what the real Mieta has thought all along. Ask me when we’re on the other side, and I’ll say much the same.” She shattered into nothingness, but a voice remained, speaking in a multitude. Caru, it said. You have the strength to do good, and I trust that you will. Your will is strong, and that is what I seek. I may call upon you soon, and you will know to return. You have faced yourself and are judged worthy.

  Colors shimmered in all directions, and he could again feel Mieta’s body—her real body—in his arms. Her clothes had changed, but he only spared a glance through the shifting of the colors. “Wait!” Caru cried out weakly. “Who are you? What are you?”

  No answer.

  He shivered as he held Mieta, but he no longer felt pain. No, if anything, he felt the hum of a living world.

  The cuts and scrapes were gone from his arms—he didn’t need to see them to know. He flexed the muscles in his back and felt his wings shift. It was enough to make his eyes brim with tears. Whole again, he thought. Drend hadn’t lied. He flexed them again, itching to fly, but he had Mieta to tend to, as well as finding out what happened with Kimke.

  “Caru,” Mieta whispered. He could finally hear her voice instead of needing to read her lips.

  “I’m here,” he said. He pulled her closed as he braced himself to stand. He looked down where he’d lain only a moment earlier and started to laugh. He bent over and picked up something of his, marveling as he spun it between his fingers.

  A long brown feather, flecked with black.

  END OF ACT I