fifty #6
The zatbah stone that contained a whole family’s memories going back thousands of years was now more than that.
It’s me. It’s Sulim. Such stones could not be destroyed in the traditional sense.
They were not the strongest material in the universe, but they resisted everything from explosions to fire.
Their melting point had yet to be discovered.
They were only cut and chiseled by expert talent who had attuned themselves to that frequency of the Void.
They create. They contain. They continue.
So must Mira.
“How does this thing work?” she carefully asked her father, who, in turn, carefully studied her. “You called it the Third Piece. Why do you need it? What does it do? You’ve already destroyed the Relics.”
“I have, yes. But to cleanly destroy this world and to keep the galaxy around it intact, I have to use that. The prasilah.”
It was a Julah word completely unknown to Mira, who could hardly guess the meaning from the root word “balance” and the suffix “person.” This isn’t a person. But was it alive?
“That object in your hand is called many things. The Third Piece. The Wild Card. The Detonator. But in the end, it’s the prasilah.”
“So, you destroy it, and that’s it for Cerilyn? It does the last of your dirty work for you?”
“More or less. Except…” Nerilis almost didn’t continue. When his daughter continued to fire daggers from her eyes, he said, “You know that you cannot destroy a zatbah stone. It’s my theory that it will somehow persevere and arrive where I need it next. We are attuned.”
Mira pulled the necklace into her hand. My mother gave me this necklace.
Hadn’t she? In the other reality, that was true.
The stone had been mined from Lerenan Estate and part of Joiya’s so-called dowry when she married into House Dunsman.
But in this reality? The one Mira had been kicked to by the High Priestess as her final gift to her daughter?
What was the history here?
“I’m attuned to it as well,” Mira muttered. Then, “Fine. Would you just give me a minute to say goodbye to her? For closure.”
Nerilis did not hesitate. “Of course. Then I need the necklace back.”
Mira kept it close to her chest as she bridged the awful gap between her and the human bodies piled only a few feet away.
She knelt beside Sulim, stave in one hand and the stone in the other.
With only a slight movement of one hand, she slowly rolled Sonall’s body over so she had an unobstructed view of Sulim as she peacefully lay as if she were asleep.
At least there’s no blood. At least there was no fear in her eyes. This Sulim had returned to the Void on her own terms. For me.
Mira placed the stone against Sulim’s paling cheek.
If my father is attuned to it… She allowed her thumb to rub against Sulim’s skin.
Then so am I. Her nail touched Sulim’s eyelashes.
Then so is she. Sulim had been wearing this necklace ever since Mira gave it to her three years ago.
When we admitted our love to one another, knowing that it would mean future heartbreak for us if we weren’t careful.
Mira the julah priestess and Sulim the human mercenary. We thought that was crazy…
She glanced upward without moving her hand. There, surely in view of her father, two butterflies danced above her. Instinctively, she knew which one was her beloved. The one bobbing up and down like a little leaf in the wind.
It was like they told her to do it.
“I’m my mother’s daughter,” Mira muttered. “I’m of the Red Line. I, too…” She wrapped her hand around the stone, her flesh heating it—or did it heat her skin? “Can create.”
“Mira…”
She would have apologized, but Mira didn’t feel like she had anything to be sorry about.
No, she could not bring Cerilyn back. She could not put those souls back in bodies that no longer existed. Even if she prayed until the end of her own natural life, she would never place Sulim’s soul back in her body. That wasn’t how creation worked.
I have to remake this whole universe.
The stave stood up on its own accord as Mira put the necklace around her throat.
Almost immediately, it glowed a bright, beautiful green that reminded Mira of the first meadow to be danced into existence.
Maybe a part of her had been there—maybe her mother’s own memories were inside of her, cast into the Red Line that they both shared across time and space.
“Mira!”
Nerilis attempted to touch her, but was knocked back onto the ground by the zatbah stone’s protective shield that now enshrouded the second coming of the High Priestess. Mira slowly ascended into the air, hands grasping the stave as she joined the stars now twinkling back into existence.
“Here we go.”
Her words were consumed by the swirling air around her, which echoed them back twofold.
Sopranos chilled her ear while altos grounded her heart; tenors touched her chin while baritones wrapped around her legs.
Mira responded with the primal cry of the first creature, her voice joining the Harmony as it breathed life back into the universe.
She saw her father as a tiny dot beneath her. He didn’t chase her. Nor did she pity him. Surely, he must have known this was fate. She was his daughter; she was her mother’s daughter.
The stone snapped off its string and floated before her face. By then, though, Mira no longer had a face. She was cosmic dust and the memory of all life and love that had pulsed through the universe.
She didn’t know what would happen. But she was duty-bound to those she loved and those she had sworn to protect, both as a Temple priestess and as a mercenary chief.
As her final thoughts joined the heartbeat of a crumbling reality, she saw the all-seeing eye of the unknown creator far off in the distance.
It didn’t frighten her. By then, Mira had rejoined the unfathomable goddess.
Only this time, she wasn’t caught up in its reality-bending fray.
She was in control. And all she wanted was someone to dance with her.
The eye closed. There was nothing. Not even Mira.
“…Well, look at you. Here we are.”
In that one moment, Mira crashed back into “herself.” Which version? She no longer knew. She contained the memories of a hundred Miras and a thousand not-Miras who had lived other lives under other names. But she recalled her purpose. And she recognized the voice that brought her back to “herself.”
Mira no longer had the stone or the stave. She barely had clothes or her own hair as she pushed herself up and acknowledged the insatiable darkness around her. There were no stars; no purple aura. The ley lines were silent here.
It was the End of All Things, but instead of the apocalyptic visions of a soul swirling into the Void, Mira had somehow sidestepped all other sense of being alive.
So had Rahara, who stood before Mira, as comfortable as the High Priestess herself.
“You…” Mira rubbed her eyes so she could more clearly see the woman with curly black hair and pure blue eyes.
Her only piece of clothing was a sheer slip that contoured to her body.
Yet her perceived nudity was as pure as the first child born to the world.
So was Mira’s, as they faced each other.
“What are you doing here? What happened?”
“What do you think after everything else we’ve been through?” Rahara chuckled. “I was sent here by Her to see this through for you. This was always the outcome.”
“Her?”
“Usually, at the End of All Things, you would meet Her Holiness. But this isn’t quite the same as the complete unmaking of the Void. You’ve done something else, Mira. Something almost no other will do in any other reality.”
“I barely know who ‘Mira’ is right now.”
“Because you are the pure soul cleaved from your mother. Ah, well, we have work to do. I’m supposed to help you.”
“With what?”
Rahara brought her hands out from behind her. Both glowed a warm, soft blue that enticed Mira to step forward and wrap herself in Rahara’s arm. Yet she refused. For now.
“You cannot remake the Void,” she said. “Indeed, both of your realities have succumbed, but you have the chance to remake your reality.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rahara held her hands together. The blue grew more intense, and soon, her face was illuminated with the power of mortality.
“Your mother, as incomprehensible to me as she is absolute, Crossed you over for this moment. She gave you the gift of reclaiming your life. Of all of our lives.”
“But I’m not Her.”
“No, but you are an aspect of Her. Maybe that makes you more powerful than even me. Maybe I should pray to you next time I am lost.”
Rahara chuckled again. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Mira. I believe that part of the reason She sent me to you a million years into the future is so I could better understand Her and the motives that are the currents beneath our feet. Her apologies to me are innumerable,
but perhaps I can finally accept this one.”
“I…”
“You must decide, Mira.” Rahara held her hands out toward Mira, as if she offered to court her to the dance floor.
Instead, the blue hue entranced Mira’s gaze, her pupils growing until all she comprehended was the beginning, the end, the middle.
“What kind of universe will She gift you? What kind of woman are you?”
Mira stared into the depths of the blue orb, seeing history unfold—from when she was born, to her childhood, to meeting Sulim and losing her again.
“How unfortunate,” a voice whispered in her ear.
“A sorceress and a human. So ill-fated. Yet that is the will of the Void. We must suffer to truly understand love.”
She saw Sulim sacrifice herself for this end; she saw Sulim slain on the floor.
If I could give her anything…
The voice toyed with her ear. “What would you give her?”
Mira knew who it was speaking to her. Yet she wouldn’t tell Rahara, who waited patiently with her hands outstretched. A life well-lived.
“Oh, and the others?”
So many others. Those who raised her. Taught her. Loved her. Chastised her. Protected her. Wanted only the best for her.
Their pain. Their disappointment. Their sorry lots in life.
Those who sinned and caused suffering toward others—they did not meet just ends.