26. EMULATOR #2
She sighed, as if she wasn’t fond of explaining their story.
“We shared the womb together. I was born first. Then, mother caught a fever that not even the most skilled of our witches could cure. When she passed, Silas and I both feared what would become of him, since Dionachs who lose their wardeness before they receive their summons are cast out. Thankfully, he avoided such a fate when I discovered I could bridge the pathway to Torin the way my mother did, using my emulation. All witches can communicate with Torin, but once one gives birth to a Dionach, they gain access to a different wavelength. That is what makes them a wardeness. With my mother’s blood in my veins, I could channel the same pathway she would have if she were still alive.
I’m the first witch to have ever done it without having given birth to the Dionach myself.
If it weren’t for my power, Silas would have been cast out. ”
“And I would have never received my Dionach. So, in a way, your power saved us both.”
She regarded me for a long moment, realizing the gravity of her abilities and actions. “I guess it did.”
“What I still don’t understand though, is why Torin doesn’t just give the messages to the Dionachs herself? I mean, why go to the trouble of having someone else involved?”
“In our culture, Dionachs are considered the lowest in our hierarchy. They are subservient beings who carry out the will of the gods and the fates. ‘A means to and end’—if you will. From what I know, the gods of Skotos were quite fond of holding a strict pecking order. Torin prefers to commune with a mediator who is continuously in tune with her, and she is not always easy to please. That is why I try to limit my personal interactions with her.”
“Oh. That explains your pushback in the garden.”
Nivelle shifted on her feet. “Precisely. And speaking of that incident . . . That reckless male—the one who accompanied you to the isles . . .”
“Roirdan?”
“Yes. The one who summons the bolts of a storm.” There was a bitterness and also a hint of intrigue in her voice that I couldn’t quite figure out.
“Lightning,” I confirmed.
“Lightning,” she echoed, letting the word marinate on her tongue, like it was the first time she’d heard of it.
Perhaps it was.
“What about him?” I asked, drawing her out from wherever her thoughts had drifted off to.
“He doesn’t . . . dwell here . . . does he?”
I couldn’t hide the twitch in the corner of my mouth. “Why?”
“I just . . . I haven’t seen him.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying not to smirk. “This is your first time out of your chambers. You haven’t really seen anyone,” I pointed out.
She pushed a quick breath out of her nose, suddenly seeming flustered. Then, her head tilted to the side, as if she sensed something I wasn’t privy to. She lifted her hand, and fire ignited in her palm—a blaze of green and white.
I whipped my head around just as Maeson stepped through the doors and halted at the top of the steps, staring down at Nivelle and me, and what the witch held in her palm.
A gasp sounded behind me, and I turned back to see the witch’s hand, now flickering in and out of existence like a mirage. “Fascinating,” she whispered, practically beaming at the strange ability.
Aremis’s ability.
Niall’s second stepped up behind Maeson and instantly grew tense when he beheld Nivelle’s show of power.
I cleared my throat to get the witch’s attention. When she looked up, her power vanished, and she slid her hands behind her back as she stared at Aremis and Maeson.
The two cautiously descended the steps, and tension bracketed the space like a vice.
Nivelle held her ground where she stood beside me, but I could feel her openness retreating, as if being carried away on a swift breeze.
“Good morning,” Maeson said, trying her best to hide the uncertainty in her voice.
No one else had been introduced to the witch, since she’d refused to leave her chambers until today. All they knew of her is what we had told them from our visit to Neveshir. Which was probably why they were glancing between her and me with a look that said, Why isn’t she biting your head off?
Aremis’s hand came to rest on Maeson’s shoulder—a subtle, protective gesture. What he sensed of the witch, I didn’t know, but I could tell that witnessing her conjure both forms of their power was enough to raise his alarm.
“Nivelle, this is Maeson, and Aremis,” I said. “Maeson’s power is the fire you picked up on. And Aremis’s is something entirely of its own kind.”
Aremis noted the witch’s intensity, his eyes furiously assessing her like she was a weapon, one that he needed to understand how to operate. Nivelle glared back, scrutinizing him with an unspoken challenge just like she had done with us at her cottage.
I looked at my two friends, willing them to be nice through my stare. “Nivelle is an emulator, so she can mimic your gifts as if they are her own.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Maeson said.
Nivelle didn’t offer the same sentiment back. Instead, she said, “Fire . . . and Aether.”
Aremis froze.
When none of us said anything—too busy holding our breaths at the word she’d used to name Aremis’s power—she smirked. “You didn’t know?”
Silence. Not even a whisper of wind. As if the mountains themselves were stunned and waiting for the witch to reveal her knowledge.
“The fae call it ‘Cheshm Zadan,’” I said. “They do not know where the gift originates from.”
Nivelle glanced at me, no doubt confused by the odd name the fae had given those with his type of ability. Then, she shook her head slowly, still smirking. “He is Aether,” she said. “One with time and space, both of which are imperceivable to the naked eye.”
Maeson turned to Aremis, her hand instinctively finding his arm. He didn’t even seem to notice; his attention was fixed on Nivelle, astonishment etched into his handsome face.
When he finally spoke, his voice was pitched low, treading carefully. “What do you know of it?”
The witch let herself be momentarily distracted by another bird as it flew overhead, its shadow crossing her face. It let out a loud caw, and she frowned. “It is a curse.”
Maeson’s face paled, her grip tightening on Aremis’s arm. “A curse?”
“Yes.” There was no sympathy in Nivelle’s voice.
“The Aether is the fabric of our existence. It is what weaves the universe together—all knowing, all seeing. Such a thing should not be contained.” She squinted as she observed Aremis, like she was trying to glean what he was made of.
“Long ago, during the war between Torin and her deranged sister, a witch cast a spell using dark magic to bind the Aether to her soul in an effort to give the witches and Torin some sort of advantage. She managed to trap a sliver of Aether within her, but the Aether was unyielding. It was not meant to be confined to a single place of existence nor a physical vessel.”
“What happened to the witch who cast the spell?” I asked in Aremis’s shocked stead.
“Something terrible. There is a reason Torin forbids us from dabbling in dark magic. The spells are temperamental and always come at a cost. With the Aether’s unyielding nature, the spell twisted on itself and became a curse.
It assumed control and locked away the witch’s will, leaving her trapped within a sea of endless voices and knowledge and visions—everything the Aether is privy to.
The poor witch became a shell of herself.
“When our goddess fled Skotos and brought what was left of our kind to this world, the one who had bound the Aether to her soul was among them. It is said that, over time, the witch was able to regain some of herself, but the curse still plagued her. Stories of her struggle are passed down through the generations, so that no witch ever tries to bind any sort of power to themselves again. It is said that what she endured was unbearable. Like . . .” She paused, searching for the right word.
“Chaos,” Aremis finished.
In the silence that followed, I remembered what Aremis had told me about his power—what little he knew of its origins.
I leaned into his line of sight, pulling his attention to me.
“You told me it’s believed that your power comes from an ancient mingling between the witches and the fae.
” The theory was beginning to make sense.
I turned to Nivelle. “Is it even possible that the witch who had bound the Aether to herself mated with a fae while she was living amongst them?”
“Considering that the witches remained here for some time before being confined to the isles, that would be the most plausible explanation. However . . .” She looked at Aremis.
“When a witch mates with any other being, and an offspring is conceived, it is always born either a witch or a Dionach, regardless of the paternal species. But you are clearly fae . . .”
“So there had to be something that changed in the process,” Aremis concluded. “Perhaps the Aether’s essence stifled the witch’s natural ability to birth a witch or a Dionach, leaving only the fae lineage. Perhaps the Aether itself changed.”
Nivelle slowly nodded. “The Aether is as unpredictable as it is unyielding. How you have managed to coexist with such a curse is beyond my comprehension.”
“He was able to do what others were not,” Maeson said. “He mastered it.”
“No,” Aremis corrected her.
She whipped her head back to him, her eyes searching his.
“I have lived with this power,” he said. “But that does not mean that it has not cost me.”
Maeson’s face faltered.
“Go on,” Nivelle urged.
Aremis was worried—the tension in his jaw an obvious tell—but he pushed past it.
“When I use the word ‘chaos,’ I do so because it is the only word I can think of that embodies what it truly feels like. Every minute of every day, there is a constant battle being waged within me, and—” He stopped himself, taking in a slow breath, working through his words.
“No one knows how that feels, or the things that are stolen from me along the way.”
“Stolen?” I questioned.