Chapter 6 Romie #2
“That’s not who you think it is,” Romie had argued. The Soulless One was his world’s equivalent of the Shadow, but Clover was neither; he was something worse.
But Orfeyi had shaken his head in protest. “I know exactly who Clover is. The Celestials whisper of him through my lyre. He is the Tidecaller who will bridge the gap between worlds, the one who will bring the Celestials back into a single form so that they will be strong enough to cast away the looming dark.” He’d leaned in to whisper his next words.
“Except the dark is him. He isn’t to be trusted.
He will try to control the Celestials, control everything. We mustn’t let him.”
He thinks we can best the drowned gods, just like the guardian in the story, Romie had thought.
She’d felt a swell of fondness for him then.
Even though they’d just met, it was like she’d known him forever.
They were mirrors of each other, she realized.
Dreamers, both. Not by the magic they wielded, but by their intrepid natures, their willingness to go to extremes to see things through, no matter the cost to themselves.
Besting gods more cunning than them hadn’t worked for the heroes of Song of the Drowned Gods, but could it work for them? Clover was no god. Yet.
They’d been trying to find a way to stop him from achieving that goal ever since. He was never gone for long, but it gave them enough time to scheme—and get to know one another.
There was nothing like impending doom to make people bond the way they had.
It was rare, Romie thought, to know a person so completely, to trust them so implicitly, after spending so little time with them.
She had already begun to feel that way with Aspen and Tol, but it was even greater now that their group was complete.
Four parts of a whole waiting in death’s undeniable shadow.
“How long do we have until our divine overlord comes back?” Romie asked now, glaring at the open doorway in the distance, where a few guards stood to ensure the keys wouldn’t leave. The Songless, Orfeyi had called them.
“Not sure,” Orfeyi said, “so we’d better make this quick.”
The four of them lay down next to each other, ready for sleep to take them.
It was a loophole that Clover seemed unaware of, that whenever Orfeyi’s lyre broke whatever influence he had on them, they were able to access their magics.
Romie still needed to bloodlet to call on her Dreamer ability, and did so now with a sharp wooden splinter she kept hidden in her pocket for this very purpose.
A pinprick against her index finger—she couldn’t afford anything bigger in case Clover noticed—and Romie dipped her hand in a cup of water.
As she drifted to sleep, she dreamed.
It was an easy thing to guide the others’ sleeping consciousness into the sleepscape with her, as she had done before with Aspen and Tol in the Heartland, where they had seen a vision of Atheia.
They found themselves on the path of stars and began their desperate search for answers—for Atheia’s presence, her guiding hand and counsel.
As it always did, the song soared around them, the harmony complete now that the four of them were here together.
That was usually the extent of it, the song bringing with it no visions of the deity who was fractured within them. But today, there was something desperate in the song, a note of urgency in the layered, feminine voices.
A hundred stars appeared all around them, dreams or visions calling for their attention. One of them burned brighter than the others, diamond-like and beautiful. Romie grabbed it, guiding the other three with her into the dream.
And there she was again. A woman with kaleidoscopes for eyes and a braided crown of iridescent hair.
Atheia.
“Please,” Romie murmured, “tell us how we can save ourselves—show us how we can bring you back without dying, and without it all having been for nothing.”
If the ritual worked as Clover intended, if the keys let themselves be sacrificed to bring Atheia back into a single body—then Clover would have dominion over Atheia.
He would sacrifice her to the fountain and gorge himself on her power until there was nothing left of her, in true Tidethief fashion. And he would do the same to Sidraeus.
That song in Romie’s soul, which was echoed in Aspen and Tol and Orfeyi, seemed to screech at the thought. From the look on Atheia’s face, it was clear she didn’t want this; couldn’t bear to be controlled by a monster like Clover.
Atheia cupped Romie’s cheek, and a strange, wordless exchange passed magically between them.
The threads that bound the keys together appeared, shimmering light between the four of them.
They connected to Romie’s pulse points, before flowing back into Atheia like blood vessels connected to a main artery.
Atheia looked at Romie with those hypnotic eyes, as if willing her to understand. But understand what?
The only thing that was clear to Romie was this sense of urgency emanating from Atheia. This bleak understanding that they were running out of time; that Clover would soon have what he needed, and the ritual would proceed unimpeded. Unless they could stop him.
Atheia’s crystalline voice pooled into her mind. Act the part of the brave dreamer.
And with that, Romie was shoved out of the dream.
The four of them lay gasping in the sea of ash, staring wide-eyed at one another.
“Did you all see…?” Romie began.
Orfeyi nodded fervently. “Yes.”
“Atheia,” Tol breathed in wonder.
Aspen’s brows knitted together. “But what was she trying to tell us?”
Romie had no idea, but the urgency of it all coursed through her veins. They had to try again, had to decipher whatever this ghost of Atheia was implying.
“He’s back.”
Tol’s defeated whisper brought their attention to the silhouette making its way through the gate. Clover had returned. It wouldn’t be long now before the keys were under his spell again—or pretending to be, in Orfeyi’s case—all thoughts of Atheia forgotten.
Before the lull of Clover’s magic could efface all her agency, Romie shared a look with Orfeyi, knowing he understood her without words.
She needed to head back into the sleepscape—needed to dream again so she could try, for what felt like the hundredth time, to reach Emory or Nisha or any of the others.
To warn them to stay away and keep Emory out of Clover’s reach, because for some reason, Clover believed the sacrifice could not happen without her.
Orfeyi needed to play his lyre as soon as he got the chance, with or without Clover gone, so they could finish what they’d started. Before the clock ran out on all their lives.