21 #2
But maybe the smoke will distort my reflection enough for me to stand looking at it.
I hold the mirror up and let the red wash over the surface. At first, there’s nothing. But then, a familiar face appears in the dark glass.
My chest heaves as I try to remember what set me apart from Carina. All the things I listed earlier. Our jaws. Hers was squarer. Her freckles were more plentiful. Mine are scattered like the stars, she used to say.
The more differences I seek, the less I understand. Because the features in the glass aren’t mine. They’re hers.
I’m not looking at me. There is no scar from cheek, to lips, to chin.
I blink and question myself again and again, trying to be sure. Until I am.
I’m looking at Carina. At what sets us apart instead of our similarities. I see my sister, yet I can’t be. What does this mean?
“Callalie!” the seer sharply calls.
She reaches for the mirror, to take it away. To take away my sister again. “Don’t touch her!” I jerk it out of her reach, careful to keep the obsidian within the realm of red so I don’t lose Carina.
Carina. My dead sister. Who grins wickedly at me, full of love and life. “I’ve missed you, carnalita,” are her first words. She shakes her head and adds, “August Aymes, Cal?!”
“Is this – how are you real?” I cry. My hands tremble as I hold her.
“There’s so much you don’t know,” she deflates. “If I had more time, I’d tell you everything.”
I sit up straighter. “Are you with Hades?”
“No!” she snarls. “I move between Lugh’s meadow and here…”
Why would she go anywhere else? “Where’s ‘here’?”
“Cal, I need you to hear her out. It’s very important that you sit and listen to what she has to say. You must be patient.” Carina’s jaw sets into that strong, stubborn line. She presses her eyes closed. “And please, please don’t run.”
“Don’t run?” Fear squeezes my heart. I look through the bloody smoke to the seer still seated across from me.
As she pushes the shawl back, I fumble the mirror. It hits the table and shatters into a thousand shards.
I stand, sifting through them, searching for Carina, my chest getting tighter when I can’t find her in any of them.
She’s… she’s gone. My sister’s gone again. A wail tears from my soul. “NO!” I slice my fingers on the broken glass, holding pieces out into the smoke and twisting them. I just want to see her again. “Carina! No, please!”
Let me see her one more time.
Just one more time.
Please.
Gods. Please.
“Callalie.”
That voice.
“Callalie Ryan.” That motherly tone I remember but want to forget.
She only exists in memories I shove into the dark. She’s another reason I hate my reflection and why I started hating it as I grew from a girl to a young woman. I have her sable hair, her height, the proud tilt of her chin, even her eyes.
“No!” I bite, ready to run like Carina predicted and warned me against doing.
This is Ares’s doing.
I scream, using my forearm to brush everything off the table. The broken glass. Its empty rim. The shells and their copal tumble over the floor. Blood-colored smoke plumes from the bare floor.
I search for some way to escape this. Her. Everything.
My mother’s hand clasps my wrist. “Sit down, Callalie.”
I try to jerk out of her grasp when I feel her layers of scars grate my skin.
“You deserve the truth, and you need my help.”
Who’s to say if she’s real? This may not be her at all.
She’s part of my trial. This is just part of the test. I have to endure her presence. I have to stay and listen, then I can go. Then I’ll move on to the rest of it and find Koda.
My mother clears her throat. “Our people, and our pantheon, live in a beautiful, sacred realm. A sanctuary crafted for us by the gods who made and love us. It’s called Aztlan. Do you remember Abuela telling you stories about it?”
I sink back into my chair, wondering if my mother will soon turn into a monster like Daedalus did. I’m trapped in this tiny room with her, with only my bare hands to defend myself. “Yes.”
She leans forward. “They weren’t just stories.
When Aztlan was ready, some mortals did not want to leave this shared realm.
Some had families with people from other bloods and wanted to remain.
The gods elected a wise woman from those who wished to stay.
The role was passed along the bloodline until it reached her. ”
My heart thunders. The Pythia said that I was raised by a wise woman, but I didn’t think she meant… this.
“Abuela.”
My mother nods to confirm it. “It will be her duty until she dies.” She’s quiet for a moment.
“Our gods only require the dedication of two mortals so the rest who remain can live peaceful lives: the wise woman to hold their history, and a single priestess whose blood can reach them through the division.”
I take in all the scars on her hands and arms again. Consider all the pain she’s endured. The vast lakes of sorrow welling beneath her eyes. The wrinkles that have crept onto her face since we were children and she abandoned us.
Her chin wobbles. “I never wanted to leave you,” she whispers.