26. Lucina
LUCINA
Ipour myself into Sol Marks over the next few days, rummaging through all of Callan’s notes in the few books he’d found on the topic.
I’ve memorized nearly all of them just to keep myself busy.
I’ve become engrossed with the dead language, Vaelith, though I’d hardly call it a distraction, considering I often find myself staring at his handwriting until my eyes water.
Stupid. It’s all so stupid to feel this way.
Sleep is sparse, but when I do doze off, I wake to a shadow at the foot of my bed, except he doesn’t show me memories anymore; he just stares. He stares and stares, as if he’s waiting for something, or conjuring up some plan to force me back into the Twilight Passage.
The Eldral, at least, is back in its hiding spot, and I have no plans on ever using it again. I mean it this time.
I grimace at the lukewarm temperature of my coffee, then lean back in Callan’s chair with a book I’ve yet to flip through.
Tonight is Selumira. I haven’t told Gemma yet that I’m not going, but I'd better have a sound argument when I do, because she’ll be prepared to drag me out of this house kicking and screaming. But with my current state of mind, adding moonshine would be a stupid idea.
Worse than stupid, it might be catastrophic.
Gemma’s in a similar headspace; she just copes in different ways. Callan has been the elephant in the room, and we’ve both been reluctant to talk about him, but I know she’s feeling it too, the worry.
Everyone is.
What I failed to realize was how important these men are to Pirn.
Their disciple-born power aside, they’re symbols of strength and hope and protection.
I didn’t know how much everyone here relied on them for those things.
People don’t talk about it, the cruel reality in which they never come back, no one wants to speak that into existence, but it does exist… that reality.
Kind of like all those troops the governor of Draycott sent over the border. They might have been swept out to sea or pummeled by a storm, but the horror isn’t in declaring them dead; it’s in never knowing what happened to them.
Pax would kill me if he heard these thoughts.
Yesterday, we passed the Banyan, and someone had left flowers by it. He snatched them up and threw them in the grass. Then at dinner, there were candles set out over his coven’s empty table, and Pax left the Tavern without eating. He doesn’t make jokes anymore, and he hardly smiles.
It’s mainly Hunter overseeing my training, but we don’t speak about anything other than the placement of my hits and the movement of my feet.
We have a mutual understanding to speak with magic, or sparring, or throwing knives into faraway targets.
We leave everything in the Yard every night.
It’s become more me training with him than him training me.
It’s an outlet for both of us, another distraction, but if it weren’t for Hunter, I’d have nothing to show Delia and her coven today.
Another thing that Callan will miss.
I reach for the candle burning at the edge of the table, effectively snuffing the flame.
I tug on that string and push it back through my hands, just like Pax taught me.
I send heat into the mug through my palms, enough for steam to ripple off the light brown liquid, then I take a well-deserved sip.
The spine of the book creaks as I press the outer cover into the top of my thighs, skimming past the stuff I already know about Vaelith and it being the first spoken language of the Chiaros.
The paragraph goes on to explain that the forgotten tongue was universal across all three planets.
Supposedly, at one point, Vaelith was spoken by everyone—
I set the book down and lean over it with wide eyes. “And everything,” I mutter.
“Nature adopted the language, translating Vaelith words into sequences of long and short bursts of light. It is theorized that that’s how the gods communicated with life on Vita.
The first instance of flickering stars was recorded by Tobias Lowry, who then dedicated his life to translating it.
This journal is a recount of his findings. ”
I flip the page, and my jaw drops.
It’s a recording of each encounter he had with flashing stars. According to him, they’d go in and out like strobe lights, long and short bursts with quick pulses in between, and Tobias found a connection between them.
The stars could speak Vaelith. Or they used to at least.
At the bottom of the next page is a hastily sketched drawing of—A Veila.
Holy gods.
674 A.C. (After Collapse)
After three long months of searching, I have caught a Veila.
I’ve managed to sustain its life by submerging it in a liquid that amplifies the sound and life force of my pulse. As long as I sit here, with the heart device strapped to my chest, I can supply its life and my own while I study it.
My findings are just as I suspected, the series of pulses and long blinks suggest a pattern similar to other stars; a pattern I have linked to Vaelith. Below are the translations that I have confirmed without a doubt.
One pulse, approximately 1/3 of a second: Yes.
Two consecutive pulses, both 1/3 of a second: No.
One long flash, an entire second long, followed by a short burst at 1/4 of a second: Come see/follow.
Four short flashes, each 4/7 of a second: War/chaos/upheaval.
Six bursts that flash in sets of two, mimicking the beat of a human heart: Love.
Again, these are only the translations I can confirm, though there are many more that I’m still theorizing; I will need a few more days with these.
However, these findings have the potential to be the greatest advancement we have made yet, for I predict that the legends are true; there is a time traveler in my midst. Decoding a Veila would unlock the secrets of the future, and life on our planet would have the entirety of its insight. We would be unstoppable.
Lowry.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
The Veila I caught…all the historians that could never decipher their language…
Vaelith. It was Vaelith. All roads lead back to it, because it was the native tongue of the Chiaros.
It was the only language that was universal, spoken by humans and witches…
by the dead and the living…by the fucking stars.
So then why was it forgotten? Evolution? The development of society and the creation of what we believed were easier languages? I bet Kimber knows.
I nearly jump when the office door swings open, and for a moment, I let myself hope that it will be him. It isn’t.
“The Dame canceled our meeting,” Hunter says to me by way of greeting. His blonde hair is damp, and his white t-shirt is vest-less; the only weapon I can see on him is the hilt of a dagger in his waistband.
Delia has never canceled a meeting. “Did she say why?”
Hunter shakes his head. “Just that something came up.”
I wasn’t looking forward to being judged and scrutinized today anyway; I’d rather just stay in this office. Maybe I’d lock the door and close the blinds, really go full hermit.
I pull the book back into my lap, but Hunter doesn’t leave.
“Back to reading then?” he asks, and I nod without looking up from the page. “How about a walk instead?”
I lift my eyes, then narrow them slightly. “Hunter, my wanting to stay inside and read is not a cry for help; it’s simply just what I prefer to do today.”
“It’s what you’ve done every day.”
“That’s not true,” I volley back. “I always make time to bruise you up a bit in the training ring.” I go back to my reading, but he doesn’t leave. “Unless you know anything about Vaelith—”
“I don’t,” he says bluntly. “But I do know that the Captain has read those books front to back, multiple times, so I’d say your odds of finding answers there are slim.”
“That’s a bit pessimistic.”
“It’s realistic,” Hunter replies, then his gaze softens. “Come on, Cin, let’s get you out of the house—”
“You’ve been ordered to protect me, not coddle me, Hunter. So, unless these books suddenly pose a threat to my life, I’m perfectly fine in this room.”
I go back to reading, and he hovers in the doorway a second longer.
Then he leaves.
We spent the afternoon working on light manipulations, and I managed to summon fire, more than I ever have, though I only have experience with measly lanterns.
I’m tempted to go to Selumira tonight, if only to be around a greater light source to draw from.
I doubt anyone would notice if I stole a few flames from the bonfire to play with.
Our walk back is quiet, both of us avoiding the Banyan tree and all the Selumira decorations being strung from it.
No one will hold back tonight—the point of Selumira is to pray and worship and replenish, if anything, tonight’s festivities will be amplified given the current state of unrest and worry.
If I thought drinking my body’s weight in moonshine would do anything to bring the three of them back, I’d drown myself in it.
I stay in the shower for far too long, letting my fingers prune and the water run cold, and when I finally pull back the curtain—
“Fuck, Gemma!” I scream and she stares back at me innocently; glitter already smeared over her eyelids.
“You’re out of your damn mind if you think you’re not going tonight. There is not a single excuse you can give me that I’d accept.”
I grab my towel off the hook with a scowl. “How about I just don’t want to go?”
“No,” she says sternly. “As your friend, I’m not leaving here without you.” Gemma storms off into the bedroom–to find me something to wear, no doubt.
I pause over the doorway as she slams a ruby red dress into my chest, one I’d bought at the markets, then she tosses the gold embroidered boots by my feet. “Just one night, Cin. You can worry about him tomorrow.”
“How can you be so okay?” I blurt, and her lips press firmly together. “How is it that I’m not, and I’ve only known him a few months? I don’t get it, Gemma. I feel…” I look for the right word, searching through the many that linger on my tongue. “Empty.”
As embarrassing and vulnerable as that sounds, it’s true. Maybe the feeling is being amplified by Pax and Hunter and everyone else that’s waiting on bated breath for them to return. But I fear it runs deeper than that, and I’ve just been pretending that it doesn’t.
Gemma’s chin quivers for a moment, then her bright blue eyes go watery. “You’ve only known me for a few months.”
I shake my head. “That’s different.”
“It’s not.” She grabs my shoulders. “Sometimes you find people and you forget how you ever lived without them. It has nothing to do with time; it’s simply a feeling, one you shouldn’t feel guilty for.
I knew you were special the minute Callan brought you into the Infirmary.
” Her eyes are clear, darting quickly between my own.
“I knew you’d be special to me, but I knew you’d be special to him, too. He was so worried about you that day.”
My eyes begin to burn as I remember it, how lost and fragile and broken I was. How scared I was, too. I was so locked in my thoughts that I hardly noticed anyone else around me, but I remember him being there. I remember not wanting to leave his side.
“He cares for you in a way that scares him, Lucina. And it scares you, too, doesn’t it?”
Her words hit me like a freight train. Is that what this is? Fear? My head nods only a fraction of an inch.
“Lucina, I’m worried sick, and you’re crazy if you think I’m okay, because I’m not.
But I remember how he looked at you that morning, when he thought he’d ruined everything.
Lucina, you are the only difference between this time and all the other missions he’s been on—he’s never had something like you to come back to, and he won’t let that go without a fight. ”
I can’t speak. Even if I try, no sound will come out.
“Now you’re going to put on this dress, pull yourself together, and let me carry the things that are heavy. I’ll give them back to you tomorrow.”
She shuts the bathroom door without another word, and I remain frozen to the spot, clutching my clothes tightly to my chest—rocked to my very core.
I turn to face the mirror and let the towel fall. Silently, I step into the dress, and with each breath, more of me comes back to life. An awareness snaps my spine straight as if I’ve been locked outside of my body, and I’m finally able to breathe through my lungs again. I can do this. One night.
I slide the silky material over my shoulders, then zip it up along the side.
The dress is cut in a babydoll style, and the deep red fabric falls about halfway down my thighs.
It’s the perfect dress for dancing since only the short scrap of red across my chest is tight, while everything else is free to move.
Selene and Gemma insisted I buy it even though it was the most expensive thing I got that day; they said the color complements my skin, and I agree.
I look…alive and healthy, with newly tanned and toned skin that has that Solian glow about it.
But it feels like deception to walk around this way; it’s not at all reflective of what’s inside.
I run product through my hair and twist some of the curls around my fingers, but I leave all of it draped down my back, the long chaotic waves as tamed as they’ll ever be. I add color to my cheeks and lips, and I’m just finishing with a dark shadow around my eyes when Gemma calls for me.
“Two more minutes,” I tell her, shoving the backs onto some gold earrings, then I reach for my boots.
“Cin!” she calls again, and I huff as I force my feet into my boots. I give my appearance one final glance, not that it matters all that much, but I rarely see myself put together in this way.
Deciding this is the best it’s going to get as far as appearance goes, I reach for the doorknob just as Gemma calls my name for a third time.
“Chiaros, G.” I throw the door open with a vengeance. “What’s the rush—”
“That’s the rush.” A slow smile creeps over her face, tears slipping down her cheeks as she points a trembling finger to the doorway.
To the tall figure leaning against the frame.
“Chaos.”