Lightbringer

It blossomed, a wreath of flame. Rielle saw Garver huddling in the brush some yards away, the pale woman helping him sit. A small flame flickered in Garver’s hands—a crudely constructed torch. At his feet was a tattered bag of supplies.

Rielle faced the fire Tal threw at her, and for a single crystalline moment, her eyes were infinite and pitiless. Thousands of tiny bindings shivered before her, millions of spinning empirium stars, all waiting for her command. Inside her, a hundred doors swung open on their hinges.

It was easy to turn the fire back toward its shield. Tal let out a choked cry, swiftly silenced.

She ensured it was a fast burn.

Even monsters were not always without mercy.

• • •

Hours later, a whisper lifted Rielle to her feet.

She licked her lips and tasted ashes, then saw Corien standing on the cliff’s edge. She felt him sifting carefully through her mind. A stag edging into a meadow after a storm. He was afraid she would run again.

She laughed, a faint burst of air. “I have nowhere to run to now,” she whispered. She touched her wet cloak, and her fingers came away black with ruin.

And you don’t have to, Corien said, the vision of himself offering an embrace. She pressed her cheek against his chest, seeking the idea of warmth he sent gently through her mind, but even that brought her little comfort. She was numb to it. Her fingers tingled with fire. She stared blankly at the fading gold spot on the ground where Tal had once been.

Such a lonesome feeling it was, to understand the full truth of her own grotesque impossibility—and a perverse relief to understand, at last, with Tal’s ashes striping her furs, that she could never go home.

Corien held her, murmuring things she did not hear, but then another voice spoke to her, a cold clarion call, and she turned her face to the northeast, listening.

Corien’s vision-self watched uncertainly as she pushed past him to the cliff’s very edge. What do you hear?

She thought of how to explain it to him—how the voice belonged to the boundless thing stirring inside her, and how much more clearly she could understand it now that her eyes had been opened by the burn of Tal’s fire. For years, this thing inside her had been awakening, and now, at last, it stretched its limbs, opened its wide, dark mouth.

She remembered the black-gold sea that had taken her after she killed the Obex in Patria. And now it returned, lapping against her, and she was not afraid of it. It lived in her veins, and she welcomed its endless will. How it pulled at her, nibbled at her. Both feeding her and hungering for her.

Turning, she faced Corien. At his feet was Obritsa, lying flat and still. The brush beyond her was empty. Garver and his companion had fled, Rielle supposed, or perhaps she had killed them too. Imagining it, she felt nothing.

Rielle, tell me what you’re thinking, Corien insisted, worry coloring his voice.

“I must go to the Gate.” Her mouth moved, and she was there inside her own body, and she was everywhere, spilling across the world on the backs of storms. She was herself, and she was the hungry black sea inside her, and she was the ocean bashing against the rocks below. She laughed. The Gate. Of course. “It is the only thing left to me,” she whispered. “I have made my choice. Now there is only this. Me, and my power, and the things I command it to do.”

And me, Corien added quietly.

Rielle ignored him. She looked out over the waves and saw nothing but infinite layers of gold. A sea of stars, shaping the world. They blinded her, but she could not tear away her gaze.

“It calls me,” she said, “and I must answer.”

Corien nodded and disappeared. The next instant, Obritsa sat up, her eyes glazed, Rielle’s fingerprints stamping her throat. Though Rielle could see the girl struggling to resist Corien’s commands, she nevertheless raised her hands, summoned threads, wove them into a circle. Rielle walked through them to a wet black island in the middle of the ocean. The wind knocked her to her knees.

Don’t be afraid, Corien said, his voice a rope of love, guiding her. She clung to it. I’m here with you. I’ve been coming for you for weeks now. I’ll meet you there, my beauty.

Rielle hardly heard him. Obritsa followed her through the threads to the black island and then began again. Her haggard face was frozen in concentration, her eyes Corien-fuzzed.

Another ring of light. Rielle passed through it, and then Corien sent a map of the Great Ocean into her mind, a long chain of meticulously drawn islands that took a scattershot path across the waves.

I don’t need that, she told him, for her own map was more accurate. As they traveled, the empirium rippled black-gold against her ribs, and she laughed, and she wept with fear and longing, for she had never felt it so pronounced, so eager. Not even when her shadow-dragon had licked the Archon’s face. Not even hours before, when she had killed the Obex in Meridian. Tal’s face appeared in her mind, anguished and full of love, but the empirium rose up and swallowed it.

Another island in the Northern Sea. At her right, Celdaria’s coast stretched like a distant dark ribbon. Seeing it, she felt nothing.

The next ring of light brought her to Iastra, the largest island of the Sunderlands, and the huge square plinth of stone upon which stood the Gate.

Obritsa fell to her knees, her face pinched with pain. Corien had released her. She huddled on the ground and heaved.

Rielle stepped over her and walked unhurriedly to the Gate. Arrows flew at her; shouts rose up from the perimeter. The Obex, standing guard, had suspected she was coming. There was the call of a horn and running footsteps across stone.

She raised her arm, silencing them all. It did not amuse her that they would try to stop her. It was simply pitiful. Their bodies dropped behind her, all forty at once.

The Gate towered, a monument of shifting light bordered by stone. Rielle floated toward it, her feet barely touching the ground. The empirium pushed her on, and her own glittering muscles carried her, and it astonished her that months ago she had stood in this very spot. She had looked up at the Gate, the dozens of cracks floating across the surface of its strange light, black and violet and white-blue like flames. That girl had thought herself strong enough to mend this thing the saints had made.

What a fool she had been in so many ways. Thinking of it, Rielle blazed with an anger cold and pure as starfire.

The empirium filled her ears, roaring for her.

I am yours

That she had thought she needed a few humans’ flimsy castings—or anything but her bare hands—to make or unmake what she desired seemed ludicrous now. She laughed, giddy with astonishment.

you are mine

Rielle stepped onto the ancient dais and plunged her hands into the Gate.

Power coursed through her, an ageless current that turned her blood blazing hot and shook her bones. She gripped the fabric of the empirium, marveling at how thick it was here at the Gate, how tightly bound, how desperate for release. It rippled like the flank of some great beast. She pushed away from her body, and with each gained inch, lightning burst from the Gate, striking her again and again—her brow, her chest, her hips. Her belly, where her child grew.