Duskfall (54 page)

What am I doing in Roden?
She had dragged Knot and Winter, Lian and Astrid into this mess. Goddess, Cinzia had made Kovac come all this way, and for what? She had thought at first that she had been leading, taking control. Now, she realized, they had all been puppets.

The way she saw things, there were three options. If Canta had sent her the vision, then perhaps everything would be all right. But in her heart, Cinzia knew that was not true. Whatever had happened to her at the fireside had not been due to the Goddess. The revelation was hollow, and Jane’s words only reinforced her certainty.

Perhaps there was no Goddess at all. Perhaps her vision was a freakish accident, some combination of fumes in the air and humors out of balance. It was no more a stretch than the existence of an immortal, all-powerful woman in the skies who dictated events on the Sfaera. Her family separated, her hometown the scene of a massacre, her position in the Denomination compromised. The Goddess Cinzia worshipped would never allow these things to happen, or so Cinzia had always believed. Only her ability to translate had forced her to reconsider. That strange power came from somewhere.

The last option frightened Cinzia the most. If it was not Canta who gave her the vision, and it was not an accident of nature, it was something else. If what they were translating in the Nine Scriptures was any indication, it was something very dark indeed.

She reached a small door at the top of the stairs, but saw that it was padlocked. Cinzia kicked the door in anger, then remembered the dagger at her waist. Both she and Jane had armed themselves since the attack by the river. Cinzia slammed the dagger’s pommel down as hard as she could onto the padlock. The lock held. She slammed the pommel down again, and again, and again, until finally the lock broke. Cinzia almost tumbled into the snow as she crashed through the door onto the roof, into the cold night.

She had not brought a cloak, and the air was cool against her skin. Snow fell, points of white stretching into the infinite dark above. She walked to the edge of the roof and looked out at the city below, clutching the dagger tightly in her fist.

Quite suddenly, the vastness of the city, the snow falling all around her, the expanse of dark sky overhead made her feel tiny. Insignificant. The guilt and confusion of the past few months roiled inside of her. She felt undeserving of life. Cinzia raised the dagger, looking at the blade. She ran a finger along the edge, drawing a line of blood. She barely felt it.

If Cinzia were to plunge the dagger into her chest, what difference would it make? Her family would survive. Her guilt for bringing Jane and Kovac to Roden would be gone. Let the darkness take her. Cinzia was one speck in the vastness of the Sfaera; the loss of one speck meant nothing.

Cinzia raised the dagger. She longed for peace.

And, suddenly, she had it.

In a rush, the darkness left her, and Cinzia felt serenity. It was as if she had been in a dark room, and someone had suddenly thrown open the shutters, allowing sunlight to fill her heart. She felt all this, and something more.

She felt love.

“Canta?” Cinzia whispered.

There was no response.

“Is it that simple?” she whispered, marveling.

Again no response, but Cinzia knew. She felt the cool air around her, heard footsteps and low voices in the city below. Perhaps Cinzia
chose
to know, but that did not matter. The feeling was real enough. She was only a speck in the Sfaera, to be sure. But there was a power out there that loved her.

Cinzia dropped the dagger and took a step back, gazing out at the snow. What had been overpowering before, was now a beautiful vastness. A vastness in which Cinzia had a part.

Her decisions were her own. Her actions could not be undone. But, now, Cinzia would do what she could, with the time that was given her.

Cinzia turned away from the edge of the roof in time to see Jane rushing towards her.

“Cinzia! What are you doing? We looked all over for you, we thought you had gone downstairs!”

“I’m all right,” Cinzia said, and meant it. She started walking back towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Jane called out behind her.

“We have work to do.” Perhaps they were not supposed to be in Roden. But they could apply themselves to the translation. Perhaps they could be of some help.

Perhaps they could do something good.

* * *

“Priestess, I insist you do not go off on your own. It is too dangerous.”

Without thinking, Cinzia wrapped her arms around Kovac. “I’m sorry. I know I scared you. But I am all right, now.” Kovac was rigid in her arms at first, then he slowly relaxed. “You needn’t worry,” Cinzia said. “I will not do that again.”

Kovac’s voice, however, remained stiff. Her Goddessguard, ever solemn. “My lady, I do not think this is appropriate.”

Cinzia smiled, resting her head on his armored chest. “I know,” she said.

When she pulled away, Kovac was frowning at her. “The least you can do is get some rest, my lady. You’ve hardly slept. You cannot continue like this.”

Cinzia smiled once more, then stepped behind the partition. “I can rest when my work is done,” she called, over her shoulder. She sat on the bed, the Codex at her side. She realized that Jane was staring at her.

“What?”

“Something has gotten into you, sister. Are you sure you are all right?”

Cinzia took a deep breath. She did not know how to begin to describe her feelings. “I am, Jane. I promise. Let’s get to work.”

Jane was still staring.

Cinzia sighed. “I hope you are not tired? I think I could translate all night, if you feel able.”

Finally Jane seemed to relax, settling back into her chair at the desk. “I am tired, but I’m not. I feel the exhaustion, but at the same time I feel something else, something pushing me on.”

“I feel the same,” Cinzia said. It was curious; they had stayed up translating for too many nights, but Cinzia truly did not feel tired. In fact, ever since beginning the translation she had more energy than she had any right to have on so little sleep.

“Canta strengthens us,” Jane said. “The translation is that important. There is something we need to find, I think. Something She is pushing us to learn.” Jane paused. “I fear we are not learning it fast enough.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Cinzia said. But, when she opened the book, she could not find her place. She had grown used to opening the Codex of Elwene to the exact place she left off; it was a small miracle she attributed to whatever power allowed her to translate in the first place. But, this time it did not work. Cinzia peered at the words, trying to figure out what she had last read. They were nearing the end of the book of Arcana, she knew. Tonight, with any luck, they would finish the book of Cinzia as well.

But they could not finish until Cinzia found her place. Cinzia frowned, flipping through unfamiliar pages. Usually the words took only a moment to coalesce, to come together. Something was wrong.

She could not read the words of the Nine Scriptures. The symbols were meaningless.

“Cinzia… do you feel that?”

Cinzia shook her head, turning pages rapidly. She had to be mistaken. But the symbols were nothing but gibberish.

“Cinzia, something is
wrong
.”

Why would Canta do this to her, now, of all moments? Just when she had felt such connection with the Goddess, Cinzia’s power to translate was taken away.

“
Cinzia
!”

Cinzia looked up at Jane, eyes wide. Then, she heard the voice.

It was low, and deeper than any voice she had ever heard. The sound vibrated, shaking her very bones. The voice was wreathed in a fiery resonance, like the sound of a heavy log thrown onto a bonfire.

The voice emanated from behind the partition. With it, came fear.

“
You are too late
,” the voice rasped.
“The Rising begins.”

“Kovac?” Cinzia whispered. The voice was not his, that much she was certain. And yet he was the only one behind the partition. “Are you all right?”

“Kovac is gone. I could not get to you on the roof; I cannot reach your sister; but this man now belongs to me.”

Cinzia looked at Jane. Jane’s eyes were wide with fear; tears streamed down her face.

“You are both too late. Your efforts are all in vain. You have been under my power since I touched your soul in Navone. And now, tonight, the Rising begins. Tonight, we reclaim the Sfaera. Tonight marks the end of your Goddess.”

“Who are you?” Cinzia asked, her voice trembling. She dared not look beyond the partition.

“We are the Nine. And I… am…
fear.
”

Then something rushed at Cinzia and she screamed. A hand wrapped around her throat, slamming her against the wall. She blinked through watery eyes. Kovac stood in front of her, one hand at her neck. His other hand held Jane, also by the neck, pressing her against the wall. Cinzia clawed at the hand that held her; she punched it, hit it with all her might, but Kovac’s arm was like stone. She kicked and flailed but Kovac did not move.

The voice rumbled from Kovac’s throat.

“Fear me.”

Through tear-filled eyes, Cinzia saw Kovac’s face. His mouth was twisted in a grotesque sneer, his eyes burned with green fire. Tendrils of iridescent smoke rose lazily from them. Cinzia felt her strength drain away.

“Fear me, and tremble.”

Still kicking, Cinzia’s thigh brushed up against something at Kovac’s waist.

His dagger.

Cinzia reached down, stretching as far as she could, and her fingertip brushed the dagger’s pommel. She strained against the hand that held her with all her might. She couldn’t breathe. Darkness closed around the edges of her vision.

Canta, help me!

“Fear me, and die.”

Cinzia’s hand wrapped around the dagger’s pommel. She pulled it free from Kovac’s belt, and thrust the blade into her Goddessguard’s eye. She felt the metal scrape violently against bone.

Kovac screamed, and the sound was a terrible hybrid of the deep, fiery voice and Kovac’s own. Cinzia fell to the floor as he released her, Jane beside her.

Kovac’s scream faded, and the large man toppled back, crashing to the floor.

The green light in his eyes was gone. The iridescent smoke was gone. The remaining eye was Kovac’s, one that Cinzia had known for years, the pale-blue eye of her Goddessguard.

Cinzia rose to her hands and knees, gasping. She felt as if she would never get enough air. She looked at Jane. Her sister lay on the floor, eyes wide, chest moving in short wheezing breaths.

“Jane,” Cinzia rasped, helping her sister up. “Jane,” she said again. Her breath allowed no more.

Jane, eyes still wide, nodded slowly. She waved Cinzia away, indicating something behind her.

Cinzia turned in horror, afraid Kovac was alive—afraid whatever daemon had possessed him was still there. But Kovac was dead, blood leaking from around the dagger. The other eye, wide open, seemed to look right at Cinzia.

“I am sorry,” Cinzia tried to whisper, but the words would not form.

“The Codex,” Jane whispered, clutching her throat. “Translation. We need to finish it.”

Cinzia nodded. She crawled past Kovac’s body to the bed. Strangely, she felt no sense of horror. But she knew it was close.

The pages of the book fell open to where she had last left off.

Face pale, throat burning, Cinzia read the final words on the last page of the book of Arcana.

And then shall it come to pass, that the Harbinger shall journey into the heart of the dragon, along with he whose mind is lost, and the ancient youth, and the pure in heart. Yet all shall desire that they never had departed their home, that they never had left the lands of their people. What was lost shall be found; what was found shall be lost. The innocent shall pass away; the cursed shall live on. And all shall learn fear as the dragon is slain, the Queen of Chaos is born from the Harbinger’s ashes, and Daemons rise once again in the Sfaera.

A
STRID DREAMED
.

She dreamed of herself, not as she was now, but as she was before, innocent and weak. She sat on a chair in a one-room cabin. The walls were wood, the floor was dirt, there was a window in each wall that showed only darkness outside. The only door, directly in front of her, was closed.

In her dream, Astrid waited.

Astrid waited for years it seemed, perhaps centuries. She waited patiently at first, but then Astrid began to wonder when
she
would arrive. Astrid grew anxious, feeling tightness in her chest, the fluttering of her heart. Anxiety turned to fear. She gripped the chair with both hands, knuckles turning white.

She
was coming.
She
would be here. Astrid couldn’t know when, but it had to be soon. Her eyes darted from window to window. A knock at the door, any minute now. The horror consumed everything and left only terror. Sweat dripped from her brow, and she shivered.

There would be a knock, any second, a knock, any second now, a knock, a knock, a knock, a knock, a knock, a knock…

* * *

“Wake up, little one.”

Astrid’s eyes snapped open.
She
would be here. Any second, now. A knock, a knock, a…

She looked into the eyes of an old woman in Cantic livery, smiling down at her. A priestess. “It’s all right, my dear,” the woman said, her voice kind. “You were having a dream. An evil dream.”

Astrid glanced around, squinting. She was in a bright white room, with candles and torches everywhere. A Cantic chapel. Astrid tried to raise an arm to shield her eyes, and felt a sharp, searing pain. Her arm wouldn’t move.

She looked down. She was nailed to a table; long white wooden spikes protruded from her arms and legs. The wood seared her flesh like fire.

“Where am I?” Astrid asked, struggling but knowing it was futile. “What are you doing?” She tried to keep the panic from her voice.

“I’m helping you heal, child,” the woman said, smiling down at her. “You’re lucky we found you. The Black Matron said you would be here; she told us your mission. The guards thought you were dead. We found you, and we knew otherwise.”