forty-one #4
“Holy Void,” Ramaron muttered. “It’s happening again.” He clung to Hannu, who helped him to his knees, where he assumed a prayer position and braced for spiritual ecstasy—or pain.
The two stone-gray eyes of the statue alit in gold, before flashing a bright, life-giving red. It was blood. It was spirit. It was the very essence of the universe as beheld in one heart.
In that instant, Mira saw the world through her mother’s holy eyes.
Everyone around her was awash in either bright yellow or blue, their auras blazing beyond Mira’s comprehension, but showing her the ley lines that coursed through their veins.
Humans, julah, and those in-between covered their ears and eyes to save their senses from the chaos boiling beneath their skin and threatening to undo their threads of mortality.
The stone butterflies attached to the statue fell off and bounced onto the floor, before exploding to life, each golden butterfly hovering in the air and kissing the foreheads of those who were frightened.
“Look, my heart. See what the Void sees.”
There was no escaping it. Those encased in blue, such as Ramaron, Kema, Sonall, and Olma, covered their eyes and screamed of burning, of beholding spiritual sights not meant for their conception.
Those swarmed in yellow, such as Sulim, Hannu, and Giselle, covered their ears and squinted in Mira’s direction, as if to ask her what the hell was driving them deaf.
A flash of blue appeared between the statue and Mira. There, in the blink of an eye, stood Rahara, given corporeal form across the span of a million years.
She said nothing. Her knowing smile was all it took for Mira to hold her hands before her face, beguiled by the red hue covering her skin and tickling her aura.
“The unknown creator,” Rahara said. “To course with the Red Line is to be of Her likeness. Do you know what you are now?”
Mira could hardly breathe as her divinity sank into her heart. No, I am nothing like my mother. Yet she was everything like her. She was the mortality that had been forced into the world. She was the hope, the dream, of the unfathomable fears of the unknown creator Herself.
“My mother… is a piece of Her…” Mira forced herself up, standing before Rahara, who was the only one unaffected by the spiritual blast of the Void. “I am a piece of my mother…”
“You understand the reason I love Her,” Rahara said, “despite the hurt she wrought me.”
Mira curled her hands into indestructible fists. She gazed over Rahara’s head, taking in the soft, effervescent presence of her mother, of the unknown creator watching over her children.
To be a part of her was to be part of the Void. To be a part of the Void was to be blessed with the trials and triumphs of being alive.
“All I want…” Mira said to no one, yet only Rahara heard her, “is to do the right thing.”
“You have your father’s talent for destruction,” the sorceress reminded her, “but you are your mother’s creation.”
With resolve strengthening her, Mira bowed her head.
When she opened her eyes and lifted it again, Rahara was gone, and everyone stood around her as if nothing had happened.
Sulim looked at her expectantly, a dull yellow touching her skin; Sonall was less impressed next to her, a mired blue making him sickly.
The only faint relief of red faded from the statue’s eyes.
Me. I’m the only one who is touched by the Red Line. She was the only one who could form the base of the pyramid needed to save this world.
It was a heavy mantle to don, but one she knew she must.
“I accept,” she said, turning to the crowd behind her. “From today, I shall be the new chief of Second Tribe. The one to lead you all to the end of the world and back again.”
Finally, Sulim spoke, cheekily asking, “And what title shall you go by, Chief?”
“Indeed,” Olma agreed. “It’s your chance to tell the universe who you really are.”
Mira didn’t have to ask her mother for help. I am neither Dunsman nor Lerenan. She was neither human nor sorceress. I am neither holy nor profane. She was neither priestess nor barbarian. I am only the one who was sent to do this, and pray that my reward is great.
She must give herself wholly over to the task at hand.
“Henceforth, I shall be known as Mira,” she said, throat tightening before she committed to the final truth. “Mira di’Cerilyn. I am thus absolved of all other duties. My only responsibility is toward Second Tribe and the planet that has adopted this outcast as one of their own.”
While applause and cheers rippled through the crowd, Mira looked toward Sulim, who approached her with the confidence that only a lover could claim.
“You didn’t tell me you were changing your name. I like it.”
I do this for you. The first one Mira would recruit for her pyramid of balance to fend off her own father, her fellow outcast. I do this for us.
As they embraced, uncaring toward what anyone might think, Mira drank in her soulmate’s scent and strength. Yet while bodily heat and pressure embraced her back, she saw the fluttering blue of Rahara’s presence in the back of the sanctuary.
Mira wondered if there was a way to recruit her for the final side of the pyramid.