Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EZRA
Ezra hit the call button and put the phone on speaker. It rang once, then Major Grendel answered.
“Did you get what you need?” She sounded smug, as she deserved to be. “You should, as I sent you everything he told us.”
“Is he sure about the skull’s identity?”
“He won’t shut up now that we’ve got him in custody,” she replied. “And he had some materials on him that we’ve been able to go through that match his statement.”
“I’m missing some key information,” Raum interjected. “Please fill in the rest of class.”
“Simmons is descended from the craftsman that made the skull’s original reliquary.” Ezra said, meeting Raum’s surprised gaze. He waggled his phone. “It’s all in the stuff Grendel just sent me. His family history is full of ancestors trying to find the skull after it was taken from them.”
“He has a journal that’s practically falling apart, full of accounts of people searching for the reliquary and the skull.
He’s also got some pages of another journal in Norwegian, no idea what any of it says, either, but they’re important enough for him to carry around,” Grendel continued, and they heard faint shouting in the distance come over the line, reducing in volume as Grendel walked.
“Simmons is ranting about how he’s the rightful owner and how dare we keep him from his relic.
I’m going to lunch. Ezra, get to work. I emailed the scans and images to you of the journals’ pages, along with his statement. ”
Grendel hung up, and Ezra pulled up the numerous emails on his phone.
Raum looked frustrated, but he was patiently waiting for Ezra to fill him in.
“The major said relic,” Raum stated. “Relic, not artifact. It’s a relic?” His tone went from bemused to slightly horrified, and Ezra nodded, agreeing.
The skull being a relic was huge. Relics came from only one source, one nearly impossible to attain and impossible to fabricate or craft: physical remains of a divine, or semi-divine, being, or an object crafted by a divine being. Divinity was key to being a relic.
“The skull belongs to Morana, a Slavic winter goddess of death and rebirth.” Ezra sucked in a deep breath, and slowly let it out before sitting in the nearest chair at one of the long tables.
“According to one of the journals, the one in English, thousands of years ago the goddess was struck by a sword that never fails to kill. The Dainsleif.”
Raum sat heavily beside him in another chair. Ezra scrolled through the transcript, pausing on a particularly interesting spot in the rambling that was Simmons’ interview.
“A divinely made weapon that never fails to kill struck a god, one of death and rebirth, and when that happened, a paradox was created. Breaking the paradox will break the cycle the skull is in. She’s trapped in a paradox regardless, as an immortal being afflicted by a wound from a weapon that never fails to kill, but this revelation means it’s even worse.
Can a paradox be extra paradoxical? A double paradox? ”
“Regardless of how paradoxical it is, this makes the stakes higher. A goddess dying has to have a bigger bang to it than an Elder fae.” Raum leaned forward in his chair. “Depending on how you break the paradox, we still get either an explosion, a fading, or death.”
There was no point in contemplating healing Morana—there was no body to heal, and such a feat was beyond Ezra. For all his powers, he was still mortal. He was no god to build a body, turning energy into matter.
Fading was the best option.
“Can a goddess fade?” Ezra asked, having no idea.
“Yes,” Saemund said from behind them, making Ezra and Raum jump.
Saemund joined them at the table, pulling out a chair and sitting beside Ezra.
He smiled at his grandson and settled in the chair.
“Morana is the progenitor of the Vila, an Elder fae species in the Black Sea region, in what is now modern-day Ukraine and Moldova. All that she can do she gave to her children. Fading is within her means.”
“A progenitor?” Ezra asked, to clarify. He knew what the word meant, but was lacking in context.
“As Danu is the progenitor of the High Court Sidhe, so too is Morana the mother of the Vila,” Saemund explained.
It took Ezra a minute. “The High Court Sidhe and the Vila are demi-gods.”
A tiny smile on Saemund’s lips. “That’s one interpretation. I never felt particularly god-like, but then my father was human. I’m not as old as the first generation of High Court Sidhe, so perhaps they were more godly before I was born.”
Ezra’s mind finished untangling his epiphany and he blurted out, “Are all Elder fae species demi-gods? Born from the divine?”
Saemund didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he held a single finger to his lips. Ezra stared at him wide-eyed, but didn’t say anything else, sitting with his realization.
“So Morana can fade,” Raum reiterated.
“Yes,” Saemund nodded. “All we need to do is make her aware, and she can begin the process herself. Hopefully she obliges.”
“What if she chooses death instead?” Ezra asked.
“The magical energy of the ouroboros is going to explode if she dies, like the collapse of a dam from a raging river. If she fades, the energy will fade with her, a gradual lessening. Death, and all the power won’t go to the Other Side with her—the sudden release of all that magic will be a rather large explosion. ”
“Hopefully she makes the choice to fade.” Saemund paused. “I’m not sure what to do if she decides to die instead. I’ve never seen a goddess die. That may exacerbate the paradox and have unforeseen consequences.”
“Something more horrible than an explosion?” Ezra said, and he threw himself back in his chair, groaning, relieved to have answers but frustrated that the stakes were now higher.
A thought struck him. He squinted at Saemund. “How did you get in here?”
Saemund shrugged, the picture of casual innocence. “Not sure what you mean?”
“I didn’t hear the door open.”
“I told him about the underhill,” Raum shared, and Saemund stared at his grandson for a long minute before turning to Ezra.
“I can teleport,” Saemund stated rather calmly for dropping such a bombshell. “As can my son. Distance and protections aren’t really a hindrance to either of us. And my grandson trusts you, so I will trust you.”
Teleportation was supposed to be theoretical, according to practitioners at least. No spell existed to transport a person from one place to another without a portal.
Saemund had no reason to lie, and sharing such a secret was monumental.
Ezra blinked at Saemund for a long moment, rearranging his thoughts and what he knew about abilities and what was and wasn’t possible, and then simply gave up trying to quantify anything. “That’s really cool.”
He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but instead he let it go for the moment. They had a bigger issue to sort out.
“Somehow I need to connect to Morana and convince her to fade,” Ezra said, brow furrowed. “I can go deep with my inner vision to see the soul in the skull, but I’m not telepathic. I don’t know how to talk to her.”
He looked to Saemund. “Can you talk to her?”
Saemund grimaced, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe. We Elder fae peoples can speak mind to mind if we reach a deep enough level of connection between souls. It is how we are able to bond with each other as mates, how we can teach our young their abilities, or forge connections on a spiritual level.”
“I might be able to reach her,” Raum said carefully, his expression pensive. “I can get thoughts with emotions if the emotions are strong enough, and if I go deep enough into someone’s aura, the thoughts are clearer, more distinct. It’s unpleasant and intimate, but I might be able to talk to her.”
“Her soul is intact, and the energies are similar to an aura, though she lacks a living body to give it structure,” Ezra mused, wondering if they were screwed before they even began.
“I can reach the soul level if I go deep enough,” Raum assured him. “It takes a lot from me, but I can sense living beings and see souls. I’ve never tried to make contact that deep with someone before, but I can try.”
Ezra nodded, worrying at his lip. He felt a twinge of hope that they might succeed.
“I’ll ask Grendel to let you have access to the skull,” Ezra said, pulling out his phone and texting the major. “I don’t know exactly how we’re doing this, but let’s see if I can get one hurdle out of the way.”
Raum
Saemund gestured at him to follow as Ezra texted the major. Raum got up from the table, following his grandfather toward his office, the door open. Saemund stepped inside, and Raum did as well, heading for the chair at his desk and taking a seat.
Saemund paced a bit, eyeing the office, and Raum knew his grandfather was seeing the underlying magical structures of the underhill and not the outermost layer of reality.
Most of the items in his office were made by people, but some of the bigger pieces, like his desk and the couch, were constructs of the underhill.
They were indistinguishable from each other, but Saemund was more familiar with the magic of an underhill and could likely tell them apart.
Saemund paused his pacing. “You told him.”
“I did.” Raum looked at Ezra, who was still sitting at the table, thumbs flying as he texted. Raum had stopped suppressing his gifts around Ezra, and saw the practitioner’s aura quite clearly.
His aura was bright and colorful, like a sunset on a partly cloudy day, facets of his personality and emotions catching the light and reflecting it out toward Raum. Ezra was a delight to read—he was guileless and forthright, refreshingly honest, and Raum appreciated that very much. “I trust him.”