Chapter 25 #2
When the three of us reached the ledge, I stood there looking out over the encampment below.
This must be how the Gods felt, I told myself, looking down on so many unsuspecting victims. Would they pray to me in their final moments or shake their fists in defiance?
I used the belief in this power to fuel my courage.
The creators fed the mouths of rivers and raised up the mountains.
They both gave and took life. Today, I would play the hand of fate for the souls at my mercy.
Anger and power over the weak would not be capable of drawing out my magic.
It never had. It gave me courage to take these lives, but not the strength to wield the darkness.
I drew in my breath completely and closed my eyes.
I thought about the first time I felt the bond.
The way it rippled and tickled delightfully under my skin.
The warmth in my belly I felt when I first saw Varro’s wings on display.
The relief of his fist kneading into the arch of my foot.
The admission of him being my mate. The jealousy of him kissing the Vesper until I claimed him myself.
The distinct pleasure he drew from me as his Siren Song danced across every inch of my body, and the feeling of his whispering lips at my ear saying, “You can do this.”
When I opened my eyes, the canyon was a blur of rust-colored rocks set against a blue sky until my vision narrowed, and tiny, small waves of lines floating across the wind came into my sight.
I could see the breeze that others could only feel.
I could see the light of the sun bend and reflect off each mote of dust. And then the clanging, banging and buzzing of the sounds below silenced for a brief moment, giving way to a deep, thunderous crack, followed quickly by another.
Screams echoed off the canyon walls in a cacophony, and the ground below them began to quake.
More bellows of horror threatened to penetrate my concentration, but I carried on, watching the canyon walls break off into shards, one by one, sliding down the cliffside and crashing into the hard ground below.
They shattered into thousands of pieces and destroyed everything they touched.
Dense clouds of dust engulfed the scene below as more rocks began to tumble down the side of the canyon.
I felt the trembling below my feet and compelled the event into a climax.
I commanded the mouth of the mine to collapse, sealing it shut before more boulders fell from overhead, making it appear as if nothing Fae-touched had ever existed there.
Horses screeched, fleeing in a panic as more large stones tumbled into the flowing river. The screams ceased quicker than I had expected. When I was done, the only sounds below were the rushing waters of the river and the occasional rock or pebble falling into place.
From my side, I heard Theory sing my praises to Saryn.
“She really is magnificent.”
“She will not see it that way,” he replied to her sullenly.
Their commentary awoke me from my concentration, and that’s when I felt the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. Silent, grieving tears for strangers.
Saryn approached me cautiously, unsure if I would have an outburst that would result in him joining those strangers below.
“You did not decide their fate.” He paused. “You only introduced them to their makers.”
I turned to face him when retorting his logic. “I am the reason they did not have a chance to atone. How will the Gods judge me for that?”
Walking away from the ledge, I turned my back on the devastation I’d committed.
I began to cry in earnest, walking till my legs would no longer carry me.
The exhaustion of what I’d done finally overcame the shock and denial of it.
I sat there and sobbed till my eyes burned like fire and couldn’t spare another tear.
Neither Saryn nor Theory came for me. They gave me the space to mourn my own actions.
My body ached and my head pounded. I had exerted myself beyond my limits, and with each passing moment, I felt the implications expand like a poison spreading throughout my insides.
Over and over in my mind, I could hear myself screaming that I’m a murderer.
A killer. I had attacked and destroyed those with no chance of defending themselves.
I took hundreds of years of life away from those who became my victims. Their bodies, buried so deep beneath the rubble, were not likely to be uncovered before they disintegrated into nothingness.
Their families would be delivered no answers and granted no peace.
All because of me. I had wielded darkness before this day, but today I had become it.
I lay back on the ground, staring at the empty cloudless sky, and let the numbness wrap around me. I let exhaustion pull me under.
I did not recall falling asleep, but when I awoke, it was pitch black and I was slumped over Saryn’s shoulder.
My body was limp and too tired to fight; he carried me back to our camp without a word.
When he sat me down next to the fire, he placed a canteen in my hands and ordered me to drink, which I did without argument.
I felt like I hadn’t drunk in days; the liquid poured over my tongue like the very essence of life.
Theory passed me a plate of food and I assessed my surroundings, noting our tents were pitched and our camp reinstated for the evening. I had no idea if they had intended to start the return trip already and I was the reason for the postponement, but I didn’t really care, either.
“Did you mourn those that you killed at the Canary Veil?” Theory asked, patiently awaiting me to stop gorging myself on food and answer her.
“I don’t think so, not really. I mean…barely,” I said, trying to remember. I think I was too concerned with mine and Varro’s injuries and Trace’s betrayal. I recollected falling apart in Varro’s embrace after the whole mess, more overwhelmed with fear of what I’d done than who I’d done it to.
“You will mourn less when you’re defending yourself. You will mourn more when they’re defenseless. And you will know real grief when they come for those you seek to protect,” Theory said before taking a bite of her meal.
Saryn added, “Do not confuse guilt and grief. Guilt festers when we assume responsibility in the matter. Grief is heightened when we have no control. They both feed on every wretched thought you have, and the only way to defeat them is to starve them.”
Their weathered words, however wise, were riddled with callousness from years of service committing the unspeakable.
After they explained the plan for the return trip, I dragged my sluggish body back to my tent, already on the verge of sleep before my head could hit the blanket. Saryn peeked his head in and asked me the strangest set of questions.
“What is your name?”
“Cress,” I replied in confusion.
“Your full name,” he commanded.
I paused, realizing he was testing me.
“Your full name,” he reiterated.
“Cress Blackthorn,” I whispered back, fearful of acknowledging my born identity to him.
“And where do you hail from?”
“From the Riverlands.”
“And you’re a sworn member of what?”
“The Imperi,” I answered, nervously, as he continued a barrage of simple questions.
“What did you have tattooed behind your ear?”
I paused for a moment and touched my fingertips to the back of my ear, feeling a scar. What used to be there? I thought to myself. Saryn began to look concerned as I thought hard on it, when finally, it came to me. I blurted out the answer.
“M-Moons,” I sputtered. “The moons of Demir.”
Saryn looked at me suspiciously and told me to get some rest.
I lay there, rubbing my fingers along the scar. Now that I had answered him, it seemed so obvious to me. Why had I not been able to respond faster? I think I was just overwhelmed with the impromptu interrogation and the fact that Saryn actually allowed me to say my given name.
I was beyond the point of exhaustion and plagued by what Saryn had declared was guilt.
I attempted to fall asleep, but I kept finding myself touching the scar, trying to think about when I had gotten the original marking.
Where and with whom? The memory continued to evade me as I finally fell into a deep, heavy slumber.