Chapter 47 #2
“Our god bade us be the shepherds of their most beloved of all souls, the dead. We found that we could no longer harness the magic of life, and that when the land was awash in spring, summer, and even autumn, our magic would weaken and dwindle, and only in the winter, when death coated all the realms, could we even return to our old realm, could we fight to take back some of what was once ours. It is only through the foresight of our goddess that we were able to survive in this new realm, veiled from the sun, so sparse in nutrients. At first, for thousands of years, it was all we could do to survive the creatures there who roamed the underworld, let alone to thrive, to even consider banding together or begin the feat of reclaiming what was once ours.”
“The Callista class?”
“Yes. At first, the Callista, born of the underworld and never knowing the warmth of life, hungered for these new beings roaming their lands, so different from the souls of the dead. We were almost annihilated. During this time of great transformation, of metamorphosis, some of us began to change even more—the Ishean were born. While they cannot cast incras, in many ways, they are stronger and faster than the Aithne, more able to withstand the Callista’s violence.
Finally, we managed to shift the tide—and soon, we three kinds were united.
Now we live mostly in harmony, and when the winter arrives, we do what we can to weaken the fae so that one day, we might all rise above. ”
“Why would the fae even make it so they have a winter? Why have a season where they are weakened at all if they crave power so?”
“Because, though they molded the world into their own image of utopia, mother earth demanded balance. The earth will not give spring without first having winter. Will not beget life without death. They made it so that for three-quarters of the Cycle, they could have magic all to themselves; they did not anticipate our god twisting their weakness and making it our strength—that in winter, we would be at our height.”
“What happens to …” Forgotten gods, she knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it, to admit it.
“What happens to the fae if I do not complete their ritual and restart spring? Already, with a prolonged winter, their society is crumbling; many in the outerlands are on the brink of starving to death.”
Zhaire was quiet for what felt like an eternity. But finally, he spoke. “The fae have become reliant on magic. It fuels their entire infrastructure—they are as tied to magic as the birth of spring. Without magic, they cannot survive.”
This was too much.
How could she be the one to decide the fate of millions? She thought of Khari, mostly honorable and wanting the best for the initiates, of his grief at the loss of his students. She pictured Twyla’s warm smile and quickness to hug, precious and good, like so many of the other acolytes.
“Many Zenaidan fae are not responsible for their ancestors’ greed, and yet they would be punished for it.”
“Not responsible, no. But they do benefit from it, do they not? If they didn’t benefit from it, they would be the first to clamor for change.”
This wasn’t fair for him to bombard her with this, to ask this of her.
“I just want to understand … you’ve been asking me to join you in this uprising, and all this time, you knew that it would doom millions to death?”
The Aithne demon’s fists clenched. His voice was grave. “Yes.”
“I won’t do it. It may be wrong what the fae’s ancestors did, but it is not the fault of those living today. They don’t deserve to be sentenced to death for it.”
“Do you think it is right how Zenaida, the center of the magical well, keeps magic even from their own kind? Uses it cycle after cycle to remain in power, to force their enemies—other Veridian fae, their allies—to their knees? They have perfected the art of siphoning the earth’s magic, hoarding magic for themselves, as greedy as their ancestors, filling their own pockets and denying it to the rest of the world? ”
“Well, no, but if I reveal myself as Heir, I will meet the queen; I can implore her to share—”
He huffed a dark laugh. “You will not meet the queen, Audra Evers, you would meet none but the shepherds of the underworld waiting to lead you to the sunless shores where all dead dwell.”
Audra was having trouble breathing. It felt like there was no air left in the tavern. “What do you mean?”