CHAPTER FIVE
C HAPTER F IVE
Thirty years before Yennes re-entered the Chasm, she was pulled from its mouth.
The sea had clawed for her ankles, the tide ravenous. It strained to take her into its grasp, beneath its surface. An hour she had stood there at the tips of the tide’s fingers, warring with fear. And all the while, the voices that filled her sung of different paths.
They had taunted her since she’d found herself in the Chasm’s basin. They had followed her here, to the very end.
Slice the limb, rid the ache.
She had run from its call. Run until her feet bled, until her chest felt torn to shreds.
Cease your breath.
“How?” Yennes had said aloud. Days, she’d spent in the Chasm. Days of torturous sameness. Of darkness. Of whispers for company. But there at its edge, facing not a safe harbour, but an ocean, she felt the first tremors quake within her. She was so tired.
Whatever valour she’d been made of before had been leeched from her. Now she cracked.
She could not cross the ocean.
Cease your breath, the Chasm whispered to her, from a refuge deep within.
“ How? ” she asked again, eager to be shown any end to her suffering.
Go into the water, it bid her.
And suddenly her mind was filled not with the thrashing of water on rock, nor the hammering of her own blood, but the burnt horizon, where the orange bled to tender pink. The world turned silent but for the whispers that bid her forward.
The water is warm, it waits.
Where before the water seemed frenzied and vicious, it now slowed. She could see the careful undulation of each wave, each ripple that grew and peaked. It was suddenly beautiful. Gentle.
The water that now cradled her ankles was indeed warm, where before it had chilled her to the bone.
It waits to embrace you, the voice said, and Yennes felt her body move of its own accord.
The ocean guided her forward, tugging on her clothes like an insistent child. She laughed and succumbed to its nudges. She let it envelope her thighs, then her hips. And if she shivered, it was only for the beautiful mercy of this end. If her breath caught, it was only for the sky’s performance, painted in colours she had never seen it wield. Her hands shook, but only with the last vestiges of some forgotten dread, now rendered meaningless. Soon, there would be nothing left to fear. There would be nothing but this warm bed beneath brilliant heavens, and she would never feel the cold’s touch again.
Yennes looked her last at the bruised sunset, then went under.
The water pulled her in slow circles, danced over her skin, and she chuckled. She felt the water drench her throat and heat her chest, but no pain found her.
Close your eyes, said the voice. Sleep.
How simple it is, Yennes thought, to yield.
It was some time before she felt the first upheaval. The ocean that had playfully tugged her this way and that suddenly wrenched and tore, but it did very little to rouse her.
All right, steady on, she thought. In her mind, a young girl pulled ruthlessly on Yennes’ coat, coaxing her into the grove.
Hurry, Yen! she brayed. She ran full pelt through the drifts, snow spraying either side of her, arms raised as though they’d lift her into the sky.
I’m coming! Yennes called back, watching the girl’s black hair disappear into the mist of the grove.
But Yennes was lurched in another direction, then another, several hands pulling her, tearing at her clothes. As though she were among the fray of the Drop, scrapping for bundles. She fought the hold they had on her but there was something burning her throat, her chest.
She was so cold. It engulfed her then with stunning ferocity. It stabbed at her skin. A different cold than that of the Ledge – that was a cold one could see. It was the mist of breath, the virgin snow, blackening skin. Slow moving frost that crept closer if you didn’t stop it.
This cold was unstoppable.
Sleep, the voice crooned to her, giddy in its triumph. Sleep now.
But what rest was there to be found in pain this terrible? Amongst hands that threw her in circles until she was dazed. And that icy burn in her belly – it blossomed within her, climbing into her chest, down her arms. It sliced pathways through her body and up into her mind.
Away, Moroz, the voice said, already shrinking, diminished. Away!
But her mind was flooded with the chill of this new creature, and its anger was insatiable.
Yennes felt her body collide with something unyielding. Then again. She was struck on all sides as she tumbled, battered across the head, her shoulder, her hip. Her eyes and mouth filled with salty grit. Her back collided with something solid, and she felt the water pushed from her lungs. It stung her nostrils.
It took a long time for Yennes to realise that she was no longer moving. A while longer to become aware of the orange glow leaking through her eyelids, the warmth on her face, the stinging breaths she took.
Yennes could hear the ocean, but it was no longer within her, around her. When she opened her eyes, it was to find that same sky, those same shades of pink above her.
From somewhere deep in her core, a very different voice whispered – not of painless ends or ceasing breath – but of something entirely other.
Release me, it said. Release me.
And then it sunk into some unreachable place within and left her entirely alone.
“Not entirely alone,” came a voice, melodious and precise.
Yennes turned her head in slow degrees, pain lancing down her neck. On the shore beside her sat a woman, dripping wet and wearing an expression of deep petulance.
A woman so beautiful, Yennes hardly believed she was real at all. Yennes squinted at her as she rose from the sand with ethereal grace, shaking out her dress.
“Who–” Yennes coughed, her voice desiccated. “Who… are you?”
“Baltisse,” said the woman brusquely. “Mother above. Close your eyes a moment, would you?”
And then there was a burst of white light.