Iron Hearted Violet (34 page)

The outline around the Nybbas’s body deepened, with the stolen face of Violet trapped inside.

YOU DID THIS!
the Nybbas said.

“Yes,” Violet lied. She lifted her father’s sword and smashed it against the surface of the mirror with a cry. She didn’t even leave a scratch. The sword sprang back, the metal reverberating painfully up her arm. Violet staggered and reeled. Still the cracks in the sky from the dragon’s fire continued to spider outward. She struck again.

AFTER ALL MY KINDNESS.

She struck again.

AFTER MY GENEROSITY.

She reared back, grunted, and struck again. Nothing happened. What if she couldn’t kill it?
What then?

AFTER EVERYTHING I—WHAT IS THAT INFERNAL LIZARD DOING? TURN AROUND, SLAVE! I AM YOUR MASTER! I SHALL DANGLE YOUR HEART BEFORE YOU ON A STRING!

Violet followed the Nybbas’s gaze and saw the shiny black form of the dragon streaking against the sky, heading straight toward the Greater Sun.

What are you doing, my beloved?
Violet thought at the dragon.

The dragon opened its throat and poured its fire into the sun and sky. And the sun broadened and widened and burned. And the sun was the sky. Or the sky was only sun. And the dragon was a tiny black mark in a blinding gleam.

Still, its heart spoke. And Violet heard it.

VIOLET, DO NOT GRIEVE. WHERE THE SKY IS HOTTEST, I WILL RELINQUISH MY FIRE AND DESTROY THE THING THAT DESTROYED MY PEOPLE. I DO THIS BECAUSE I AM MEANT TO DO IT. BECAUSE LOVE TRANSFORMS OUR FRAGILE, COWARDLY HEARTS INTO HEARTS OF STONE, HEARTS OF BLADE, HEARTS OF HARDEST IRON. BECAUSE LOVE MAKES HEROES OF US ALL.

“Come back!” Violet yelled.

STOP!
the Nybbas screamed.

Violet felt the dragon’s words thrumming against her heart.

I LOVE YOU, VIOLET. AND MY LOVE IS AS INFINITE AS WORLDS. AND IT CONTINUES BEYOND MY—

And the dragon disappeared.

Into the fire.

Into the cracking mirror.

Into heat, and destruction, and the death of all.

And the sky broke open like a melon, and everything went dark.

The war ended as the sky cracked.

We saw the servants of the Nybbas cease their writhing, cease their destruction. We saw them shudder and crumple to the ground. We saw the light in their terrible glittering eyes flicker one last time before going out forever.

We saw the mirrored sky above our heads light up and burn from end to end. We saw it crack like a plate and shatter.

I ran to Demetrius. I grabbed him in my arms.

I protected his body with my body.

And the sky rained down.

“DRAGON!” Violet shouted. She heard nothing. She could not feel its voice. Instead, there was only the howling of the empty sky, the winds of infinite worlds, screaming across the land.

As the sky shattered and darkness fell, the outline of the Nybbas’s body remained. The jagged edge of the narrow head, the sloped shoulders, the blade-sharp edges of the pointed hands and feet, all took on a cold, glowing light. The figure stepped forward. It wobbled in the wind. It was made of mirror—as thin and insubstantial as a paper
doll. But huge. It towered over Violet, its two-dimensional shoulders twisting this way and that. In its reflective sheen, Violet saw images of the burning world, the crumbling mountains, a castle reduced to cinders.

The Nybbas wobbled, shifted, its form fluttering in the gusting winds of the burning sky.

It turned its head toward one hand and then the other, marveling at the sharp tips—no fingers, just two shining blades.

AHHHHH
, the Nybbas whispered.
UNEXPECTED, BUT SURELY TEMPORARY.

“I didn’t expect you to be so…
thin
,” Violet said, her voice a harsh rasp, a scathing curl in her upper lip. She picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at the mirrored creature. It didn’t seem to notice. But Violet saw a small notch left in the shine of the mirror where the rock hit, and tiny cracks spidering outward.

The Nybbas drew itself up.
THOUSANDS OF YEARS IN A MIRROR, CHILD. JUST GIVE ME TIME.
Its edges glittered; its body radiated triumph.
YOU HAVE FAILED
, it screamed.
I AM ALIVE! I AM ALIVE!
The voice came from the figure, but it rumbled out of the earth as well. It vibrated the air and rained down from the empty space that once was the sky. It was everywhere.

Violet looked up. She saw her reflection in the leg of the Nybbas—her
wrong
self. She also saw her
true
face on its chest. And she saw the castle that was her home, encased in flame.

The heart—that
thing’s
heart—was destroyed. Violet knew it. She could see the burning castle.
Strange that it cannot
, she mused. That was why its body smoked. Why it cried out. That is what hurt it so.

Destroy the heart, destroy the Nybbas.
That’s what the god had said. But the heart was destroyed. Violet pressed her lips together.

So the Nybbas was mortal. And she had her father’s sword. Her fingers curled around the hilt. Violet set her teeth and growled.

“You are not free because you have your heart,” she said. “You are free because we broke your prison. But your heart has burned. It is destroyed. And you are just as mortal as the men and women who gave their lives defending their homes.” Her voice caught.
My people!
she thought.
My home!
“And you will be just as dead.”

I HAVE GROWN WEARY OF YOU, VIOLET
, the Nybbas said. It took two long strides toward her, the points of its feet piercing deeply into the ground. It raised its hand and sliced down in a long, clean arc, its sharp edges stinging the air
with a high, bright sound. But a wind blew, and its body shifted, and the Nybbas missed.

Violet ducked under the flash of the Nybbas’s sharp arm, extended her sword toward the creature’s leg, and made contact where its knee should be. The sword clanged hard, and its body rang like a bell. And the creature began to crack—a slow, thin shattering along the Nybbas’s leg. It didn’t notice. Not at first.

I SAID, I
HAVE GROWN WEARY OF YOU
. INSUFFERABLE CHILD.
It swung again, but the winds continued to blow. It missed—almost, the tip slicing across Violet’s cheek. She cried out but didn’t falter. She struck again, this time at the creature’s torso. Cracks as thin and complicated as spiderwebs traced outward, spreading across the midsection.

DEAR ME, ARE YOU STILL TRYING TO WIN? IT SEEMS TO ME—
The Nybbas gasped. Its legs folded in three places and dropped like an accordion.
WHAT’S HAPPENING?
It plunged its spiked hands into the ground and looked up and bellowed forth a great, anguished cry.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I’VE WAITED SO LONG!

The Nybbas shattered slowly. A shard from its shoulder detached and fell to the ground. Then a shard from its hip. The Nybbas slashed at Violet, who dodged the blows and struck at its torso, its shoulders, its narrow head.

STOP!
the Nybbas screamed.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE.
Its voice was a squeal, a whine, a pathetic sigh.

Violet struck again. She shattered its left arm. It fell to the ground in pieces.

PLEASE.

She struck its right leg. It exploded in dust.

I AM NOT WHAT YOU THINK.

She struck the center of its chest—the empty place where its heart should be.

The figure froze. It bent its head toward the sword still lodged in its chest. It shuddered once as the cracks zigzagged and spiraled, as they spread as fast and wild as exploding stars.

And in a spangle of glass, the Nybbas was gone.

Violet was in absolute darkness. The ground rumbled and shuddered and leaped beneath her feet, as though in great waves. Violet felt herself tossed lightly into the air before coming crashing down, landing hard on her back. She covered her face with her hands.

(Was that a chipped tooth?)

(Was that a pug nose?)

(Was it
her
face?)

“I am lost,” she cried out.

“
NO
,” said a voice.
“NO, CHILD. YOU ARE QUITE FOUND.”

At the center of the empty, roofless sky, we saw them.

Twelve old gods, as tall as towers. And as small as pinpricks.

Strangely,
both
.

And behind them—though only for a moment—we saw the multiverse the way a god sees it—worlds upon worlds upon shining worlds. A great sea of universes. We saw how they surged and swelled. We saw them crash against the shore. And we nearly wept at the beauty of it.

The Old Gods rubbed their eyes and yawned. Their
bodies shifted and readjusted, as though only recently formed—or, in their case, re-formed. One of them—the shortest and stumpiest of the lot, turned to Auntie, Nod, and Moth.

“
YOU DID WELL, MY BELOVED
,” the runty god said.