Destiny's Blood (37 page)

Josmere gave her a thin smile. Realization suddenly dawned in Layela’s eyes, as Josmere had known it eventually would. She knew Layela would remember their time in the dead gardens on Thalos IV.

“Josmere, I…” she began, shaking her head vehemently. Her dark hair veiled her face.

“Please, Layela.” Josmere’s body ached from the wound, her blood urging to be free. She swallowed hard and steeled herself. “I’m dead anyway.” She paused and ignored the tingling at her wound where the ether was already beginning to heal her. The lie didn’t feel bitter on her lips. “I can’t heal myself and you know it. Let me die knowing I did my part for my people.” Josmere winced as pain shot up through her. She waited for a bit of her breath to return before she spoke again. “Please, Layela. My blood is only good while I live.”
Please, before too much of me is healed, and not enough blood escapes. In case this is just temporary renewal of my ether. In case I lose this hope again.

She didn’t need to say what needed to be done. Layela understood, she was certain. Layela nodded and more tears rolled down her face. She rose and vanished from Josmere’s view. The Berganda closed her eyes and let the flickering fire grace her vision. She wished she could see the stars one more time, beyond the great purple beast. She wished she could see Yoma, and know she was safe.

A shadow came between her and the fire and she opened her eyes, smiling as Layela knelt beside her. She heard Ardin digging on the other side of the fire.

“He’ll be good to you,” Josmere said. She raised her hand and wiped a tear off Layela’s cheek. She paused, catching sight of her skin, profiled by the fire. It was turning translucent, already so different and dead it didn’t seem to be hers. She had lost so much time, she doubted even the ether could save her body now.
But my people...

“I saw your death,” Layela whispered, her eyes endless depths. “I saw your death, and I tried to stop it.” She took a deep breath. “I thought I could save you.” She trailed off and looked down, her mouth trying to form words that couldn’t get past her lips.

Josmere shifted. She had never seen that vision, and she had seen all of Layela’s visions
 
—
 
she was the one to unlock them from her mind. Unless...
Unless another ether creature had unlocked Layela’s visions, too?

“Who showed you those visions?” Josmere asked, ignoring the fire gripping her body.

Layela met Josmere’s eyes. “The Kilita, years ago. I saw death, Josmere, so much death, yours included. Yours was at the hand of that other Berganda. I thought...I thought that by killing her, I would save you, and...” Her voice broke and she looked down again.

Some of Josmere’s blood escaped her wounds, and just as it parted her body, just as it slid down her yellowed skin, she could feel it sing, like the strings of a violin vibrating with sound and life. Then it struck the ground with a crescendo. She could hear the music of life all around her, and she was certain she had just given birth to another Berganda. She felt her life flow into the new being, the sprout that she had seeded, the Berganda she would become, and the children she would in turn seed. Her mind grew heavy as the rest of her body joined in the song of birth.

“Oh Layela,” Josmere whispered, unable to hear her own voice for all the music around her. “Oh Layela, you did save me. You let me live long enough to save my people. It’s not about death, Layela, but about life.”

The music soothed Josmere as Layela met her eyes, the tears still clinging to the corners. Josmere could feel the strength flow from her too; her ether, which she was beginning to embrace, joined the symphony.

“I don’t know what to say,” Layela whispered, taking Josmere’s hand. Her coldness broke through the music that was filling Josmere’s mind.

The Berganda fought back a sob. “Say goodbye, darling. Say goodbye.”

Layela wept bitterly and hugged Josmere. The Berganda held her back with what little strength she had left, tears streaming down her face as well. She wept for what was and what could never be. She wished she could see her daughters grow up. She wished she could see the sun again.

“Never doubt yourself,” Josmere urgently whispered in Layela’s ear. “Remember, it’s about life, not death. We all forge a path for those who follow us, Layela, and no path is fully laid out before us.”

Layela lifted her head and searched out Josmere’s eyes. She held them for a long time, and then nodded. Josmere wondered if she too could hear the song of the Berganda and feel what she was feeling
 
—
 
life, blossoming all around them on this dead landscape.

In the darkness, Ardin had stopped digging. It was time.

Josmere leaned heavily on Layela as she walked her around the flickering flames, so cold and distant now that Josmere felt she was in a dream. Her friend’s tears were dry. She ached with hope that Layela’s life would be long and filled with few occasions for such sorrow.

As the grave Ardin had dug came into view, Layela’s steps faltered, but Ardin walked beside Josmere and supported her for the last few steps. Josmere smiled weakly to him.

“Do you think your sister would mind if I kept her jacket?”

He swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I’m sure she would insist on it.”

His eyes shone with tears, which made Josmere feel a bit better. It was a comfort to know that more than one person would grieve her.

Layela crouched and jumped into the hole. It was only about a metre deep, but it would be plenty. Layela reached up and helped Josmere down.

There was nothing left to say. Josmere wanted to joke to Layela that she was a plant, she would be fine. But she didn’t trust her voice, and she didn’t want her friend’s determination to falter.

Layela held Josmere’s shoulders firmly as she lay down. The Berganda closed her eyes, letting herself slip into much needed rest. She didn’t open her eyes again as Layela bent down to kiss her cheek. She didn’t want her friend to see the fear in them.

“Goodbye,” Layela whispered, and then she was gone.

Josmere was alone, so very alone, and so very afraid.

She didn’t want to die, but now was her time. For herself and for her people.

Seconds were lost. She heard nothing, but imagined Layela was looking at her and hesitating. Josmere wanted to scream at her to stop looking. She didn’t to be remembered as this broken, withering creature banging on death’s door. She wanted Layela to remember the lively Berganda she had been, beautiful and feisty.

Josmere smiled. It had been a good life.

A few seconds later, earth fell on her. Quickly. Without hesitation. She felt her blood mix with the earth, could feel it sing. She could sense Mirial’s ether infiltrating every wound, every scratch, and travelling the length of her blood from her heart to her hair. The earth was still filled with enough ether to merge with her blood and do what even Seela’s still-fertile blood failed to do, no matter how many different planets she had shed blood on. Still, she was afraid. She hummed Layela’s Lacile song, imagining her friend in the shop once more, happy and fulfilled.

She hoped Layela would sing that song to her children.

That thought made her feel calm, made her let go.

She stopped humming, letting the earth greedily creep into her body, securing with her blood the future of her people.

It still took a long time for her to die.

C
HAPTER
35

D
rums resonated throughout the caves and the bunker, reaching the crew of the
Victory
. They stopped working for a moment, wondering what spurred on the distant lament. In the bunker, some wept, others screamed, but most just removed whatever rag was on their head and sat down, sombre, as though their last strength had dwindled from them.

Curious, Avienne followed the echoes to their origin. She passed the weeping women and the fallen men, the frightened children and screaming babies. She ducked below house separations, sometimes crossing through houses. She had already given up on making sense of this place.

The guards did not challenge her as she passed them to head down into a cave, but simply watched her with tears in their eyes. The drums’ echo was loud and beckoning, and with each new beat her heart skipped. The hallway amplified the sound of the drums, so that the sound lingered long after the initial note had been struck.

Reaching the end, she turned and was amazed at the roar that greeted her. She stood above a valley filled with plants, a waterfall and rivers, and below many people were gathered. At the other end, she saw a palace with many small balconies and one huge one, and it was there that three large drums sat. They were accompanied by two gongs, creating a slow rhythm which her heart could not help but follow. The whole cavern was filled with the noise, accented by the waterfall. Six guards led a casket out of the palace, a beautiful piece of oak and gold. They were followed by the stylized gentleman who had escorted Yoma away. Even from where she stood, Avienne could see that he was crying.

She felt momentary panic and looked around, relieved when she spotted Yoma on a balcony of the palace. She saw a shadow in another window and thought it was Zortan looking on, but he was too far and it was too dark for her to be sure.

Guess her time didn’t go too well, either
. She turned to head back to the settlement. Her ears could not take much more of the pounding of the drums. Other settlers were now wandering into the tunnel. Avienne accelerated her pace and was soon out, where the sounds of grieving were less intense.

“Can you believe it?” one of the guards asked her, his eyes wide and filled with tears.

“Honey, I still can’t believe this place doesn’t have an ounce of booze.”

The guard frowned and turned to a more understanding ear.

Avienne sighed and started up the stairs that would lead her back to the
Victory
, heartened by the thought that Gobran Kipso might keep a personal stash of ale.

i

The drums were still pounding when Yoma broke free of the proceedings and let an old maid lead her to her room. There were more stairs to climb, circular ones this time, in some sort of tower. At the top, a hall spread before them. The maid led Yoma to the last door and opened it. The woman bowed, and Yoma feebly thanked her.

She needed to get out of here fast, before these people drove her insane. She smiled as she closed the door behind her, trying to imagine how these loyal servants would react if they knew of Yoma’s past: a petty thief and when necessary, a killer.

It had only been necessary once. Yoma sighed and walked to the other side of the canopy bed, surprised to see that the room had a window. She walked to it and looked out at the dark night sky. Apparently this section of the castle reached above ground. She could see a bit of the
Victory
from here, and could make out the large fences that protected the settlers.

She looked up, gasping as white mist stretched across the sky.
Wraiths?
No, this was different.

The mist clung to the sky wherever she looked, except…she could hear water falling.
From here? The waterfall is deep below me.
The sound of rushing water slammed into her and she held her breath. The mist cleared and she could see the temple again, above ground and deep red, and she was crossing the bridge. She felt an icy shiver of fear and her breath grew cold. She hesitated, but then looked beside her anyway. She laughed to see Layela, well and alive…and then the blood came. Blood covering her hands, dark and thick and warm.

“No!” Yoma screamed, hitting her fists on the window ledge. The pain dispersed the rest of her vision.

The door opened behind her and the old maid entered. “Is something wrong, Lady?” she asked, hurrying to her side. Concern lined her every tired feature.

Yoma gave a weak smile, but the maid looked out the window and gasped. Yoma followed her gaze. In the sky, previously hidden by the mists of her vision, was a large, blood red moon.

“What’s wrong with it?” Yoma asked. She didn’t like the look of it, but moons were different on each planet.

The maid turned to face her, her face white despite the red glow that illuminated her and seemed to infiltrate every crease of the room. “The moon, my Lady, has not shone on this land since the day of your birth.”

Yoma looked back out at the strange moon, so big and so sad, soaking the land in its eerie red light. The hairs on her arms stood at attention. She wondered where on the planet her sister was, and if she felt the same fear when she looked at the monster in the sky.

“Thanks,” Yoma said to the maid, who still stood mesmerized by the sight.

Something terrible would happen, she could sense it. She needed to lock Layela in the deepest, darkest cave she could find before it caught up to both of them.

She ran down the tower stairs and out of the palace, where the proceedings were now reduced to quiet meditation. The casket was gone, and the mourners with their lowered heads did not notice her. Still, she stuck to shadows and walked quietly, her steps accustomed to blending into even the thinnest of crowds. She still practiced the thief’s habit of locating exits in every room, so she knew there were only two ways out of this bunker
 
—
 
one was with a ship, which would be faster but too easily detectable, and the second was through what she guessed was the original entrance, the one used by the settlers in the main hall.

Yoma reached the main hall and quickly stole a garment to throw over her shoulder and head. It was a type of dress
 
—
 
or maybe a sheet, she wasn’t sure
 
—
 
but it was enough to get her past the mourners undetected. She snuck through houses and walls, over fences and under clotheslines, spotting the sought-after break. It was easy to spot, since no house had been built close to the exit for fear that wraiths might break in. Yoma cast glances left and right, and found everyone too absorbed in their grief to even look up. She slipped into the corridor, shed her acquired clothing, and dropped into a crouch. Two guards watched the corridor, whispering in panicked tones to one another. News of the moon had travelled fast, and so would news of her escape.