Chapter Thirty-Six Adela
It takes us weeks to deconstruct the bone crypt.
As we work beneath the ground of the towering black-marble temple, the newly matched move through the city.
They spread the news of what has happened, and provide aid to those who need it.
They remove rotten, crumbling buildings and find empty places to establish gardens.
Kian helps with these, creating produce from dried seeds and rotten vines.
Others take to the river, cleaning it so it is once again potable. The most ambitious begin working on bigger-picture projects—education and housing and facilities for the very young, the very old, and those who just need extra care.
It is not perfect. Insborough will never be a utopia.
Despite occasional setbacks, the transition to new leadership in the order is not even a quarter of the chaos I expected.
It turns out, for many, those in power had little effect on their day-to-day lives.
And so they just continued on living, paying little mind to what was happening in or around the the temples.
Kian, Cecelia, Ulric, and I continue to work carefully on our deconstruction of the crypt. We separate the skulls. To those still present in their bones, I give a choice. They can await matching with new novitiates in time or be put to rest, finally, in the valley.
Most choose rest.
From these we pry the jewels, making a small and valuable pile on the altar.
Along with much of the strange and precious art in the temple hallways above us, they will be sold.
Their proceeds will be used to help fund our efforts, to buy food and necessities for the people doing the work, and to help provide support to the poorest of the city. And to support the valley.
The night we take the last skull down from the ceiling, Kian and I lie in bed atop the covers. We are damp with sweat and ecstasy, but still we curve into each other. I tuck my forehead onto his chest, and he trails a hand lazily through my hair and down my spine, sending shivers across my skin.
He kisses the gooseflesh he’s created with a chuckle. “You’re so beautiful, Goddess.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a vision very unlike any of the others we’ve experienced rises up to meet us.
The world is blurry, coming to us in broad strokes of color and overwhelming emotion. Movement is different—stilted and slow, low to the ground.
I miss flying, soaring over the valley that is my home and dominion. But soon I will find my wings once again. But first, my love and I have one more essential task.
Our caretakers and others gather before a pile of our fellow creatures’ bones. They have done their good work and are ready for their final rest, ready to be reabsorbed by the valley and find new life in its magic.
The caretakers begin their chanting. The pressure builds.
We are placed atop the fire as the caretakers continue their chants. The tension rises to a zenith. With a final, conjoined assent, we burst forth into a sanctifying golden light.
There is a moment of absolute nothing, and then we are flying once again.
We come out of the vision in a haze.
“I think we were just given some very clear instructions,” Kian says.
“Oh, you think?” I give him a small poke to the ribs.
In one burst of movement, he grabs my hand, thrusts it over my head, and shifts so he is hovering above me.
His grip on my wrist is firm but gentle.
His beautiful, smirking mouth just barely brushes mine as he speaks. “Do not tickle me, Goddess.”
“And if I do?” I take my free hand and trace it across the bare skin of his ribs. He skirts away from my light touch.
“I will have to take revenge.” He seizes that hand, too, and raises it above my head as well. He holds both of my wrists with one hand. With his other he traces up my arm, across my clavicle, and down my sternum.
“Do your worst,” I urge, my voice liquid with desire.
He complies enthusiastically.
Back in the valley, we go immediately to a large meadow and unload the skulls. Everyone works together—keepers, priestesses, and priests. All around us, Tani gambols, chasing dust motes in the sunshine and getting underfoot.
Above us, Lathai flies in lazy figure eights, watching his little one’s joy.
“Are you certain I can’t have a week to look through our archives for the ritual around this?” Cecelia asks, looking like she wants to cry. “What if we do it wrong and it doesn’t work?”
“It will work,” I reply with absolute certainty. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the past month, it is that ritual is not nearly as necessary as intent for magic. But I like it, too. It’s familiar, and it helps us feel safe and in control. “Find it for us for next time?”
“Fine.” She places a gryphon skull on the pile.
Nearby, living creatures draw closer, curious as to what we’re doing. The larger, flying ones make me nervous. There is still a dragon with a taste for human flesh loose in the valley.
But we have protections, including two dragon-wielders.
When they are all unloaded, I ask everyone to stay and stand witness for as long as they’re able. Nearly all do.
I take a deep breath, not quite ready to take the next step.
I was raised a keeper, a matcher; destroying over one thousand skulls feels fundamentally wrong.
I know I must. I asked the skulls what they wanted.
They have already served longer than any creature ought.
These wanted rest, and I will not rob them of it.
Kian takes my hand. With a nod, Svena and Ulric light the skulls on fire, using their magic. As the bones burn, Kian harnesses their energy and magic and funnels it back into the valley.
Nearly instantly, we see the effects of magic returning even more powerfully than it had begun to show when we smuggled Tani home.
Buds burst on trees we thought dead; the earth becomes a dark, rich brown; there even seems to be more birdsong.
Most telling, the living creatures around us become restless.
They dance and call out, run, and play-fight.
They remind me of the little alicorn, pure chaotic energy.
These creatures would not allow themselves to live in a house in the village like Bartholomew’s pet dragons.
They are wild and want to be free, not hand-fed.
When there is nothing left but ash and a few small flames, Kian and I turn to each other. Now comes the hardest and most straightforward part of this process.
It should be simple, to let the phoenix go. After all, she changed my life in a way that I wasn’t prepared for, that I didn’t want, but nothing about this is easy. Still, we do it.
As one, Kian and I remove our phoenix skulls. We step forward to the very edge of the fire, so close that the heat licks our feet, and we throw our skulls to the flames.
“Goodbye,” I whisper to the darkening skull.
“Until the after,” Kian says, his voice thick with emotion.
We turn to go, but there is a pulse of golden light. We turn back in time to see two fully formed, living phoenixes emerge. A new beginning for our wondrous creatures.