7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Mace
" W e need to slow down, this pace is unsustainable," Morrow snarls at me as he climbs off the back of a griffin.
"Absolutely not. We stay the course. We will get to Feria, get the artifact and journal, and then get Viola from Ytopie." I toss my bag to the ground and slump against a tree, rubbing my thighs to work out the stiffness from an entire day mounted on a massive creature.
"Unless the Shadowweaver doesn't wish to return to us," he says, for what must be the thirtieth time since we woke up and she was gone. "Come on, man, you are not stupid. It's been a week since she left. If she were going to come back, she'd be back by now." His negativity is starting to wear on all of us and I need it to stop if we are going to continue. But I cannot approach him aggressively on this matter.
Tulip shakes her head as she digs through her pack for something. "That's not fair, Morrow. Viola would never intentionally keep herself from us. You have to have faith."
"My faith is used up, wife," he huffs. Tulip rolls her eyes at the designation but doesn't correct him on it anymore.
"I know you don't know her like I do, Morrow, but Viola is loyal," I tell him. We've had some version of this conversation every evening as we set up camp. We're getting close to Feria now. Utilizing griffins has helped us cover more ground than we expected. We've run into very little trouble, the most being some errant creatures that stumble upon our resting places. But Morrow has easily dispatched them with his axe.
"I don't want you to think I am okay with what she did," I tell the group. Plume has just returned with a small beast I don't recognize for dinner, and the rest of us settle around the fire Morrow conjures up for us. "I'm fucking furious at her. We talked to death about her recklessness and inability to let others help. But I believe you yourself told me I need to give her some grace and recognize that she will do what she thinks she's supposed to."
Tulip spears a chunk of the unknown meat on a stick and holds it over the fire. "I don't know why we argue about this every night. Lola is going to come back to us. There is no if, there is only when."
Morrow sits beside her, his leg pressed against hers. Over the past week, I've watched them grow closer and heard their conversations deepen. Tulip's nightmares are almost entirely under control, and I can't help but think it's something to do with the fact that when I wake up in the morning, her head is on Morrow's chest.
"Maybe she has not returned because she is taking care of Himureal on her own?" Plume asks, taking a dainty bite of the meat.
I rip a piece of the meat off with my teeth, talking as I chew. "Possible. More likely, she's doing recognizance. She's not full strength yet." I swallow the dry meat and search for the canteen I filled at the last stream we passed. After gulping the cold water, I add, "I have a theory."
Morrow gestures widely. "Then, by all means, Nightroot. Enlighten us."
"Well, Gods need high priests to act as a conduit for the devotion of their people to be at full power, right?" Plume hums as she nods. "I think Viola, missing Spring magic, doesn't have a high priest, so she's not fully powered. I think Himureal knows that. I think he's got her contained, so she can't grow more powerful."
"What are you saying?" Tulip asks, wiping her hands on her dirty pants. At this point, I can't even tell what color they're supposed to be. Her hair is a tangled mess, tied up with one of Morrow's strips of fabric that he uses to protect his braids.
"I'm saying we need to raise her power level so she can break out of whatever containment he has her in. And you," I glare at Morrow, "losing faith in her only makes it worse."
Plume rests her chin on her knee. She's managed to stay more put together than the rest of us, actually making an effort to bathe and detangle her hair. Still, the braid has pieces of blonde hair jutting out of the sides and shorter pieces curl around her face. Blood smudges her forehead from butchering the beast we had for dinner. "It can't hurt for us to see about getting Viola some worshippers."
"How would we even do that? We're about to go through a rainforest. Not a lot of people there," Tulip says, leaning into Morrow.
"I have an idea. I don't know if it'll work, but it's possible that I can pass messages using Air magic. But, it could be intercepted." She pulls at the end of her braid nervously. "Should I try?"
Morrow grunts, kicking his toe into the dirt in front of him. "What would you say?"
I suck on my teeth, drawing circles in the dirt with the stick I roasted the meat with. "Maybe something vague? 'The Gods are gone, but one remains. The Shadowweaver needs your support now more than ever.'"
Tulip groans. "Oh, she'd hate that. She'd shove you into the dirt for that one."
"What's so bad about it?" I ask, wrinkling my nose. "It's factual."
"Factual is not what stirs people to action. Feelings are," Tulip says, standing up. She starts to pace, her small feet leaving tracks in the dirt. "We need to communicate that it's Viola that needs their devotion, but let's be honest with ourselves – most people are no longer devoted to the Gods anyways."
"I thought there was at least some devotion left," Plume says.
"There is some general honoring and whatever, but it's not like anyone is praying or sacrificing anything. Except for the Race. I guess when you know, you could be slaughtered," she gives me a pointed stare, "you figure that's enough devotion. Why would we need to do anything other than the Race?"
"What about ' The Race is over. The Shadowweaver requests devotion another way'?" I try again.
"Wow, you're awful at this," Morrow laughs. "I thought you were a politician?"
I look at my lap, grumbling low. "I'm out of practice, that's all."
We spend ages lobbying ideas back and forth. This message seems to carry the weight of the world on its shoulders.
Finally, Tulip claps her hands together. "I've got it!" We all look at her expectantly. "I don't know how we didn't think of it earlier. It's simple. 'The Shadowweaver needs your devotion.'"
"That's it?" I ask, skeptical.
"Well, plus you combine Influence with Air to send the message."
Morrow jerks his head to Tulip. "Well, aren't you a brilliant little thing?" She flushes and kicks him softly with the toe of her boot.
"I'm not sure why that idea didn't occur to us," Plume says, claiming my attention. "Just a simple statement plus Influence towards it should get us what we need."
Nodding, I stretch my legs out. "It's a good plan. Shall we do it now?"
"I doubt many people want to hear my voice whispering into their homes while they're trying to sleep," Plume says with a lilting laugh. "Tomorrow. We'll send it daily and hope it reaches the right people."
I can't sleep.
Without her near me, it's been a week of restless nights.
Every day I am away from her, I feel my skin tightening, my countenance growing dimmer.
I have never needed a woman for my happiness.
I have spent seventy years on my own, entertaining women only when it suited the urges of my baser nature.
But then I met Viola Mistflow, and she turned me upside down. Suddenly, I was making plans for a life together. I was considering what it would be like to have her tucked under my arm on a cold day.
Viola Mistflow, the Shadowweaver, the God of everything but Spring, has consumed me from the moment she mouthed off to me during the opening ceremonies for the Race.
I have longed to pry her head open and see what makes her tick. The shadows and nightmares that swim within her consciousness tease me with the inevitability of our destruction.
But oh, it will be a beautiful end.
There is no world in which Viola Mistflow and I live a calm and simple life. I knew that when I told her I loved her.
I knew that when I promised her that I was all in on our relationship.
Every step she takes is one towards chaos, and I will trail behind her, picking up the pieces until the air within my body stales.
But this? Leaving me behind?
It is a betrayal that is freezing the blood within my veins.
I know I will forgive her. I have spent seven days telling the others that we must stay the course and continue our mission. And I believe that. It is not lip service to keep the momentum going. But I have tried to temper my fury at the woman I have chosen to spend my life with. When I think about the fact that she recklessly met with Himureal alone, which resulted in her being trapped in Ytopie, I see red.
Every day she is away from me, I feel I am losing my tenuous grip on the anger I keep locked inside me.
I am beginning to understand her more and more every day.
She felt this and more when her parents left her in the Summit. At least I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she will come back to me.
I will give her no other choice but to.
The sun crests the horizon, shooting rays of light through the brightening sky, streaking orange, pink, and purple over Krillium. I lean against the thin tree at my back, using it to hold my weary body, and I imagine Viola staring at the same sunrise.
But I know she's not.
If she is trapped in Ytopie, there is only one place that could hold her.
Prison.
The woman I love is most likely trapped underground, surrounded by slag that dampens her magic and brings to the forefront memories of a trauma no one should ever endure. But if anyone can handle it, it's her.
If anyone can figure out how to escape an inescapable prison, it is Viola fucking Mistflow.
My Shadowweaver.