Justice

BOOK TWO THE OSSOLYN TRIOLGY

KERYL RAIST

COPYRIGHT 2012 Keryl Raist

Smashwords edition.

ISBN: 9781301103942

Printed in the United States of America

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

For more information visit: www.kerylraist.com

Also By Keryl Raist:

Sylvianna

Hunter's Tales Volume One: Billy Pryce

A Proper Romance (Dec 2012)

Acknowledgements

While it is true that writing is not precisely a team sport, no book goes from the hands of the author to the readers without being touched by others. I'd like to take a moment to thank the people who have been so helpful for this series.

First off, my beta readers, who have been kind enough to take time out of their own busy lives to read my stories and comment on them. Nick, Steve, Asa, and Gail, thank you so much.

Secondly, Cassie at Gathering Leaves Reviews has now proofread three of my works, and I am just thrilled by her work. She's helping me to beat the commas into submission, and I am very grateful for her help.

Lastly, my husband and boys. Thank you so much for giving me the freedom to do this. Love you all.

Keryl Raist

Cast of Characters:

Chris Mettinger/Cellin Ath Dath Wa Cell

Former High Priest of Hidiri. Battle Mage.

Sarah Metz/Althiira Ut Cell Wa

Cell's wife. Healer. Farseer.

Pat Calumn/Ahni Al Ath Gyr Bui

Cell's bodyguard. Battle Wizard.

Chuck Cuthart/Anthur Sud Dath Wa

Cell's half-brother. Telepath.

Dave Boyle/Dia Qul Cell Wa

Althiira's brother. Wizard.

Mike Tamont/Burq Sud Ben Burq

Cell's bodyguard. Sword Mage.

Autumn Rennier/Illynanthanus Illyn

Fairy.

Allan Reeter

Sarah's landlord. Mage.

Eric Morrell

Sarah's Arabic Professor. Mage

Claire Morrell

Eric's wife. Witch.

Ben Metz

Sarah's oldest brother. Allan's friend. Mage.

The Presence

The God of Hidiri

Mildred/Mjur

Highest Angel of The Presence

Preface

Irinith, Hidiri

Fall Waning 45, Year of the Presence 26,428

Althiira paced around the flat. Familiar rooms of carved granite and marble, decorated in wood furniture and plush animal skins, served as a space for purposeless wandering. She was too nervous, too jittery, to sit still, so she moved from room to room, paying no attention to her surroundings.

Long, tangled white hair spilled down her shoulders. She hadn't brushed it out for at least three days, and it showed. Sooty blue smudges underlined weary eyes; her usually milky-blue skin had gone from smoothly pearlescent to tear blotched and ashy. Despair clung to her like muscle to bone.

She glimpsed herself in a mirror as she drifted and spent a moment looking at herself. Already a corpse, but not yet dead. She glanced out the window and saw the city of Irinith nestled in the valley below them. We're all walking corpses; they just don't know it yet.

There had been no sleep the night before, so there had been no moment of waking, no separation between yesterday and today. In some ways, it was pleasant to be only in the present.

In other ways… There was a reason for being in the present now; the future was rapidly running out. She drifted to the balcony and checked the position of the moon. They'd be gathered outside of the cave now. Not quite time to go in. But soon…

Visions of this day had been intruding on her for almost a year now. Bits and pieces of the visions changed as reality changed or stayed the same, as some realities wouldn't change. But this part of the present was a time she had never before seen. This moment had never been important enough to break into her mind and shatter her peace.

Now was waiting. Now was time moving too slowly. Now was staring at the moon, trying not to think about what they were doing. Now was praying, or more precisely, hoping—

Hoping what? Althiira didn't know. Hoping her husband died? Hoping the angels tore him to shreds, broke his body, the body she had spent days rebuilding with her magic and her tears? The body she had loved more than her own.

Hoping he lived? If he lived, the world would stop spinning and the moon would plummet toward Hidiri, and they would all die in fire and force.

Hoping he was right. Hoping? Praying? No, hoping because there was no point to praying, not now. Hoping he knew what he was talking about, that he could do it, that he would do it, that he'd survive the angels, cast the spell, and come home. That somehow they'd keep going without the Presence.

There's still time to end this, Mjur, Highest of the Angels, Voice of the Presence, whispered in her mind. Go to him, lay your hands on him, and let your magic flow! She had been fighting that voice for seasons now. This time she just let it seep through her.

You can still get there in time. You can still stop him.

Why are you doing this? she asked, her voice quiet and defeated. You know I won't do it. I know I won't do it. And we both know how it ends.

For the same reason you're standing on this balcony instead of going to him. Hope for the impossible.

Angels hope?

I do.

Althiira spent a long time gazing over the edge of the balcony, down the jagged cliffs of Mount M’Hyrin, watching the Yittar River flow through the valley thousands of feet below her.

You can change how this happens. Ten hours from now the moon will strike Hidiri, but it doesn't have to. If you kill him now, the sun will rise tomorrow; your children will breathe tomorrow.

If I do it, I'll never know if I murdered him or saved us.

Weak woman. She felt lashed by the scorn in those two words. But they were true; she didn't have it in her to do it, and she knew it.

Yes. You're asking me to kill the man I love based on the faith that you're right. I don’t trust you—I don't trust me—enough for that.

You'll damn your entire world for your own peace of mind?

That was her biggest fear. Of course, it knew her fears. It knew everything, every button to push, lever to move, every word that cut to the bone. Althiira shook her head and straightened her spine. She'd made her decision, now was the time to live with it, not go over it again and again.

You want him dead? Kill him yourself! Stop trying to make me do it. Apparently those were the magic words. Mjur vanished from her mind. Maybe it was off doing it… Althiira tried not to think too hard about that.

She checked the moon. More time had gone into that conversation than she had thought. The moon was high, a brilliant thumbnail-sized orb in the pink and green-tinged dawn sky.

On the day the moon is high, when the sun tips the mountains of M'Hyrin… She glanced to the west. The sun was just brushing the range, haloing it in gold. It happened once every twenty-three years. Anthur had said that was a sign this was meant to be. The only time the spell could be cast just happened to coincide with the one time it needed to be cast.

If it wasn't meant to happen, it couldn't. That’s what Anthur was always saying. It sounded so reasonable. But Anthur, no matter what, always sounded reasonable.

They'd be entering the cave now. She wondered if she'd be able to feel it when Cell began to cast, wondered if she'd know if… when he died.

She could see him, memories of her visions, or maybe she was so connected to him that she could see him work. Althiira didn’t know which, nor did she care. Her Cell, tall and strong and proud, walked toward his fate. Her eyes lingered on the scars that trailed down his left arm, threading through his ivy vine clan mark, making it somehow more his. Scars left from the wounds she couldn't heal.

He stepped into the cave naked, as the magic required: pure of body, pure of mind, ‘nothing profaned by the hand of elf touching his skin.’ His black-cherry hair, liberally threaded with white, was haphazardly cut short. She wondered about that for a moment and then realized why he would have done that. With nothing to hold his waist-length hair out of the way, he would have cut it off to keep his line of sight clear and prevent anything from using it as a handhold.

Cell walked to the altar and began to cast.

She felt it, saw it, and knew this wasn't a memory. The magic began, and everyone, everything felt it. He was changing the world, breaking it, forcing the magic to his will, making his will into magic. Cell harnessed more power than anyone had ever imagined, creating a better—if he was right—world with it.

The angels descended. They ripped and clawed and broke her husband. She was too emotionally exhausted to feel the full extent of the horror of what she was seeing. Even so, the images left her crumpled and sobbing.

Then there was a moment when his body didn't matter anymore, where he wasn't a body any longer. He was golden and bright: pure magic and what Illyn would have called soul. It didn't matter that his body was limp, bleeding, and maimed on the floor. The part of him that mattered was upright and casting the spell that would stop the entire universe.

And stop it did. Shattering force and thunderous crashing tore everything to bits as their world stopped spinning. If it could break, if it could topple, it did.

Her link to Cell broke with everything else.

For a moment, it almost felt good. Everything was still: her mind, her body, the world. The sun stayed just over the mountains, halted in its trip across the sky.

Then, things began to move. She heard cries, a voice here, a voice there, as people began to realize what was happening. She stood and looked up; the moon had begun to fall; already it was the size of a plum. And soon, too soon, but not soon enough, because they'd have to live through those hours between now and then, it would block out the sun, block out the sky, and there would be nothing but moon above them.

Eight hours from now, the flat, the mountain, the planet would be gone. Althiira walked to where the railing had been and surveyed the damage; huge chunks of rock and towers lay scattered about the courtyards below. Her eyes scanned the valley. In the city of Irinith, the destruction was complete. She couldn't see it, dust and smoke blocked her view of the city, but she knew the buildings had toppled, crushed by the force of the world stopping.

Althiira pulled away from the view. Cries turned to screams as more voices joined in the cacophony rising to the sky, beseeching a god who no longer responded. Everywhere on Hidiri, Ossolyn were realizing that the magic was gone. Soon they would notice the sun had stopped moving. Soon they would notice the moon was getting bigger. Panic would meld into frenzy, and frenzy into riots and fires.

Her children were crying, their voices joining the screams from below, bringing her back to here and now. She was done drifting. Althiira stood and surveyed the damage. The railing of the balcony had fallen, and so had the towers of the palace, but their flat was still safe and secure. There was something to be said for carving your home out of a mountain; it was almost indestructible.

She went to the nursery. All four of her boys were there. The older ones had gone to their little brothers. It made her proud to see Jrenn and Larn holding Hyrath and Gerrath. The older ones startled when they heard her; they should have felt her long before they heard her. Whatever questions they had wanted to ask died as they watched her.

She took the babies and whispered to them, trying to calm them with her voice. But they could feel the world was wrong, and it terrified them.

The older boys followed her to the balcony. Larn took the babies from her and headed to the bit of garden that hadn’t toppled into the valley below.

Once they were out of earshot, Jrenn, her oldest, asked quietly, Father isn't coming home, is he?

No.

Whatever it was you were working on… Why he kept saying it was going to be all right… It didn't work, did it?

Not the way he thought it would.

What happens now?

She turned to him. Even without magic, the force of her sorrow, regret, and anger was palpable. Do you really want to know?

Yes. Jrenn was scared, but determined to maintain his control, determined to assess the situation and move toward fixing it, if possible. They'd been raising him to be a king, and he was doing his best to act like one.

Look at the moon.

He did, and his breath held as he realized it was much too big. It's falling toward us. Look at the sun. It will stay there until we can't see it anymore because the moon blocks our view of it. 'The love of the Presence set the universe to spinning. It made the moon revolve around Hidiri. It made Hidiri circle the sun,' Althiira bitterly quoted the hymn they had all learned as children. Now that it's gone, everything has stopped. Soon, we will, too.

What did he do? Jrenn's eyes were huge, his voice icy with fear.

He killed the Presence. He stopped the Choice. He made us free to be the tools of our own will, for the next eight hours, and then there will be no will.

Why didn't you stop him? Jrenn's sky-blue skin had gone almost white at the idea.

I would have had to kill him.

Jrenn was horrified. He wrapped his arms around his mother, and at last understood why both of his parents had been so distraught the last six moons.

Is he dead? he asked.

I was sure I would feel it if he died. But I didn't feel it, and now there's nothing. Althiira spent another minute watching Larn play with his little brothers in the garden.

He's not dead. He's not here anymore. She didn't know how or why she knew, but she did.

What do we do now?

We wait. Do you have anyone you want to say good-bye to? It won't be over for hours. I wouldn't go out of the palace, it's not… She laughed grimly. I was going to say it's not safe down there. Not that safe matters anymore. But if you leave, you probably won't be able to get back. If you've got any friends here—

The only other person I want to see I can't get to.

I'm sorry.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up straighter, pulling all of his reserve into place. Me too.

Go take your brothers and send Larn over.

The conversation with Larn was similar. Apparently, he did have a girlfriend in the castle somewhere. He promised to be back soon, but he wanted to see her again.

Time slipped by. Larn came back. Her heart broke a little more for him. So young and so much promise. His tunic was on haphazardly, and there were love bites on his neck. He'd never get to do that again, never get to experience the sweeter joys that came after years of learning another person's body. Never get to see what the love of decades could do.

And what did the love of a century get you? Five beautiful children, and you'll live to see them all destroyed. Anger began to burn away sorrow. He should be here! He should see the mess he created and watch as we drown in fear and… He made the mess; he should be here to see it in all of its evil glory!

The smoke wafting up from Irinith grew denser, began to block the view of everything but the sky. The screaming grew louder. Soon, it would be a palpable wall of sound, growing into its own force, its own creature, spreading panic and fear.

She cuddled Hyrath, nursed him, and tried to keep her heartbeat steady for his sake. He stopped whimpering when she put him to breast, but he'd start crying again if she was agitated with a racing heart.

Hyrath fell asleep when he finished eating. Snuggling him close, she sniffed his warm, milky baby scent. Silk-fine red hair brushed her cheek as she kissed the tiny, sky-blue point of his ear. She checked the moon again. It was the size of a pumpkin now.

Anger turned to hate. He'd left her to watch this. The least he could have done was come home and die with them.

Platter-sized now. It went faster as it got closer. Four hours left? No way to tell. The sun wasn't moving, and with the magic gone, the clocks didn't turn. Eternal now raced toward destruction.

Gerrath scrambled into her lap. He settled down for a nap, as well.

Jrenn sat next to her and put his arm around her, and Larn joined him.

I feel like we should be doing something important, Jrenn said.

Like what? Larn asked.

I don't know. Something to make sure someone knows we existed.

Mom made sure of that. Jrenn looked a bit confused. Larn continued, Ryft is off planet, hopefully out of this entire plane.

Yes. Guthrien. The boys nodded at that. Guthrien was well away from Hidiri, in a different universe.

Why didn't you send us away? Larn asked, not petulant, but curious.

Would you have taken your brothers and gone? She liked that answer better than the real one. She wouldn't save her own children when she had damned everyone else's.

No, Jrenn answered.

They watched the moon grow, screams rising in the background. More and more of them were starting to come from the palace.

I'm the High Priest now, aren't I? Jrenn asked, idly picking at a few small chunks of rock that had fallen free of the ceiling.

I think so, Althiira answered.

Shouldn't I be trying to calm them?

No. If there was ever a time when people deserved to panic, now is it. There's no tomorrow. No rebuilding. No one will have to face their neighbor or their crimes again. There's no reason to calm anyone now.

On a more practical level, seeing you proclaiming yourself High Priest is unlikely to be soothing to anyone, Larn added.

Jrenn sighed. That's true. They watched the moon.

Larn got up and went to the edge of the balcony. He sat so his legs dangled over the side. It was a four-thousand-foot drop to the river below. For a moment, the desire to fling herself and her boys over it was overpowering. End it fast. End it easy. No more waiting. No flames.

No chance at revenge.

Had she thought that? Had that been her voice or Mjur's?

A glimmer of an idea began to form in her mind. Was Mjur still there? Could it answer prayers anymore? She couldn't feel it, but that didn't mean it was gone. Absolute Justice was its specialty: life for a life, pain for pain, sorrow for sorrow. Did it have its own magic? Could it even function without the Presence?

Yes!

This time there was no doubt as to the owner of the voice. Ask with your final breath. Beg me for Justice as the air burns in your lungs, and I shall grant it. Stay here, watch them die, and then when the moon rains flame and your skin chars, ask me for Justice, and I will give it to you!

Done.

Mom?

Jrenn's voice caused her to jerk. Sorry. Almost done. When the babies wake up, we'll eat.

You want to eat? Jrenn was surprised by the idea.

I want to keep things as normal as possible for them.

Jrenn nodded at that. Routine would keep the babies calm. There was no reason to make them any more upset than they already were.

So, they followed the routine. The babies woke up. They all ate lunch. Or, they all sat in front of plates with food on them and chewed the occasional bite, but none of the adults really ate.

Althiira read stories to them in the afternoon. Hyrath got another nap. They stayed inside, away from the cracked and fallen windows. No one wanted to see how big the moon was.

The light changed, grew brighter, silvery. Daylight bright, without the warmth. Larn went out to check. His face, normally open and relaxed with a slightly cocky air to it, was pinched and serious when he returned. A third of the sky.

Althiira nodded at him and returned to reading to the little boys. She kept her voice light and bouncy. The force of her calm kept them from screaming. Larn sat next to her, and she wrapped an arm around him and kissed his forehead. He wanted to break down and start crying, but was too embarrassed.

Jrenn picked up on his brother's distress.

Come on, Larn, let's go find another book. Mom'll finish this one soon. He took his brother's hand and led him out of the nursery toward the library.

She was so proud of Jrenn. The pain of it knifed through her. He was doing a man's job and doing it well. Images of his future, of the ruler he would have been, flashed before her, but she'd never get to see the reality of it. Her voice broke, and Gerrath touched her face.

Mama?

It's okay, Ger. She cleared her throat and went back to reading, feeding her anger into a quiet prison inside herself. There would be a time to let it out. And that time was coming soon.

When she finished the story, Gerrath got up. He went to get some of his toys. After playing with them for a while, he asked, Papa?

Soon, Ger. He'll be home soon.

The older boys came back. They had both been crying. She put Hyrath down on the floor. He pulled himself onto his hands and knees and began rocking back and forth, determined to get to the toys his brother was playing with. In a matter of days, he would have been crawling. Rage at missing that spiked through her.

Calm. They need you calm. There will be time enough for rage soon.

She spent a few minutes holding both of the older boys. Ninety-five years since Jrenn had been born; eighty-eight since Larn joined them. Not enough time. Not nearly enough time. Bury the hate; bury the rage; let it out later. Let it out when you ask for Justice.

The screaming continued to grow louder. It made the rocks tremble and the world ache. It became too much for the babies to take, and they began to wail along with the voice of Hidiri.

It's time. She led the boys outside onto the balcony. The moon covered the entire sky. The world was bright, scalding white, too light, and then in an instant, it went dark. The moon was blocking the sun. No more light.

In the black, the screaming rose to a wailing maelstrom.

Her own voice rose; fighting the panic was useless. The boys, all four of them, added their screams to the concert of terror.

A new sound started, one she was expecting. A roar. The light changed again, becoming the ruddy orange of flame. The moon was burning. Very soon now. The roaring grew. No sound could penetrate that roar, but she could still feel the screams.

Oppressive, searing heat wrapped around them. Hidiri had been burning all afternoon: small fires from riots, bigger fires from when the world stopped. Now it was burning from above, as well. Hot wind rushed toward the flames, feeding the fire, leaving them gasping for breath.

The stones began to crack; flesh began to bubble and melt. Almost done. She couldn't feel the boys any longer; she couldn't hear the screams. Althiira was suspended between fire and wind, between life and hate.

One breath left, use it well. Mjur, hear my prayer! Grant me Justice!

Chapter 1

Winesburg, OH

May 11, 2009

Chris's fingertips rested on her shoulder. He hadn't been asleep. Dozing, maybe. Enjoying an afternoon in bed with Sarah, definitely.

He rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. He wanted to see as well as feel.

Sarah was sleeping on her stomach, facing away from him. He loved these minutes where she was still asleep and he could watch her, loved the utter luxury of having hours and hours with nothing to do besides be with her.

His fingers caressed her skin, playing lightly over the curves and flats of her shoulder. Chris stroked a lock of her hair. The straight, fine, black strands were finally long enough to reach her shoulder. He'd never told her how happy he was she decided to grow her hair long, didn't think he'd ever mention it to her. If she wanted to cut it short again, he didn't want her to stop on his account. But he did like it long. He also liked the contrast between her black hair and her pale-peach skin. The memory of when her hair had been white and her skin so pale-blue it too was almost white came to him. The White Queen. His Queen. His wife of one hundred and twelve years. The mother of his five children. The only woman he had ever loved. But their old life was gone, finished for good last week.

Sarah didn't remember that life, and it was time for him to forget it. Time to focus on their future. The sparkle of the fire opal ring he'd slipped onto her finger as he re-pledged his life to her yesterday caught his eye. His wife again.

She turned to face him, opened one eye, and smiled. Morning.

Mid-afternoon actually. He leaned in to kiss her shoulder and then her fine, black eyebrow. She closed her brown eyes and stretched.

Afternoon?

I can't see the clock from here, but the light's right for it.

She sat up and looked past him. 3:48.

Normally he hated the fact he couldn't see anything smaller than an elephant from more than fifteen feet away, yet today, his nearsightedness lent an intimacy to the moment he enjoyed. She was the only thing in his world with sharp focus.

She sat back against the headboard. He rested his head in her lap, gazing up at her. Her fingers twined in his wavy, charred-brick red hair, and he stroked the underside of her breasts, more stroking the tiny, almost invisible hairs on her skin than the skin itself. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and her nipple hardened enticingly. His own body stirred in response.

Chris wasn't a breast man. He liked them well enough—he figured all straight guys did—but for the most part, they were just nice scenery. But, lying in her lap, her breasts hanging a few inches above his face, he suddenly understood the appeal.

He continued to stroke lightly, watching her skin flush and nipples respond to his touch.

Feels good. She smiled at him, tracing her fingers down his.

Glad you like it. He shifted position so he could lick, using the tip of his tongue like the tip of his finger. She arched into his touch.

They really are lovely.

You're just noticing? There was an amused smile in the tone of her voice.

Yep. With as many riches as your beautiful self has to offer, I'm just noticing. He moved on to long, flat, broad strokes, while shifting his awareness onto her. He couldn't feel the sensations through her body, but he could feel how much she liked what he was doing. Mostly, she was amused at the level of attention he was paying to her breasts. That wasn't the response he was hoping for. There was a place for amused and playful, but gasping with pleasure was more what he was hoping for.

He knew how to get them to gasping with pleasure. Chris scooted over and sat up against the headboard, pulling her into his lap. His kiss was deep and hard, shifting her mood from amused to aroused.

Better?

She licked his lip, nipping it with her teeth. Yes!

Five minutes, ten minutes, an hour? He had no idea. Soft, wet, slide, heat, lips and tongues, and the occasional sharp edge of tooth consumed him. She rose up, not enough to break the kiss, but enough to slide onto him.

There was something about that first thrust, something intense, perfect, and whole, the others didn't have. He held her firm against him, hands cradling her ass, keeping her from moving, just enjoying the lingering feel of that stroke.

Obnoxious, loud beeping pulled Chris out of his dream. The feel of flannel pajamas tangled around his legs and the sound of his brother, Tom, slapping the alarm reminded him he was back at his parents' house.

He cursed quietly, squinted at the clock—it was too far away for him to see without his glasses—and decided it didn't matter. There was nothing he needed to be up for anytime soon. He went back to sleep, hoping to get back to that dream.

Hours later, a bit after eight, he woke again.

Time to face his parents. Last night had ended with another earnest conversation about why living with Sarah was a bad idea.

They hadn't yet decided if they were going to cut him off or not, and he wasn't sure why they were hesitating with the decision. If any of his brothers announced moving in with a girlfriend, intentions to get married soon or not, that would have been the end of any parental support.

Chris tossed his blankets aside, got up, made his bed, and went to brush his teeth.

He could feel the gentle buzz of his mother's mind downstairs. Something was keeping her hands busy, but she was fretting about him.

A smile crept across Chris's face. His parents' emotions amused him. He shouldn't feel that way. It wasn't kind, but after the last year, his mother's concern and sadness at him living with his girlfriend and his father's mixture of anger and respect just struck him as funny. He'd fought demons, killed angels, broken his arm, watched his brother get his face burned off, dislocated a shoulder, laid his best friend to rest, and cast the kind of magic that would have destroyed most mages, but it was finding his wife and living with her again that had his parents bothered.

Of course, they had a highly edited version of the last year. They knew he had been in a car accident where his arm was broken and his friend was killed. They knew he was living with his girlfriend. They didn't know she was his wife. They didn't know it was parting from her, doing the one thing she had told him not to, and as a result, killing her, their children, and his world that had made him the depressed child they had known for the last almost twenty-two years. They didn't know anything about his life before this one, had never heard the name Cellin Ath Dath Wa, and, if things went the way he hoped they would, they never would.

Chris went downstairs and found his mother. She was doing her usual Monday morning routine: ironing while watching TV. When he stepped into the living room, she turned off the TV and looked at him expectantly.

I've been thinking about this, and I'd like to make it easier for you. I know you do not approve of me living with a woman I'm not married to. He felt her hope that he'd come to his senses and decided to live on his own peak. So I won't ask you to pay for me to do it. As of the day I leave this house, I'll cover my own expenses. And he felt those words kill it. I'm sorry this hurts you so badly.

His mom put the iron down, shut it off, and turned toward him. Concern and frustration radiated off of her stout form. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair and put a hand on his shoulder.

What's your rush? You barely know this woman, and you've got your whole life to get to know her before jumping in like this.

He hated this part of it. She was right. From everything she knew, he was acting like an irrational, love-struck twit. But, he also knew telling her the truth was an even worse idea. Well, Mom, actually we've been married for over a century. We had five children together, and when I was in your shoes, when my daughter was telling me about the boy she was in love with, I handled this with even less grace. No, that wasn't going to work at all.

I've already waited all my life for her. Now that I've got her, I don't want to wait a moment longer than necessary. Didn't you tell us you knew you were going to marry Dad by the end of the first date?

She rolled her eyes. He had the sense she had never thought that story might come back to bite her. Yes, but I didn't actually do it for another three years.

Chris had enough tact not to mention that the three years in question were the ones between her fifteenth and eighteenth birthdays, and that by the time his mother was his age, she was two months pregnant with him.

It'll be okay. I know exactly how this must sound to you, like I've gone completely off the deep end, but it will be okay. And in time, in five or ten years, you'll laugh about having been worried.

She hugged him, still concerned. His words had done nothing to alleviate her worry. I don't want you to get hurt. You're still very young, and…

Really, it'll be okay. You'll meet her on Friday, and you'll see why I love her so much. You'll see how happy I am with her.

I can already see how happy you are. I just wish I could believe this was more than a passing fancy.

It is.

Fine. You want breakfast?

Yeah. His mom stepped toward the kitchen. I can make myself a bowl of cereal. No need to do it for me. She nodded and followed him into the kitchen anyway.

So, tell me about her, she said as he poured himself a bowl of Chex.

Her name is Sarah. It was Althiira the first time we met. She's working on a combination Bio and Middle Eastern Languages major. She was a farseer and an adviser to her father, the High Priest of Hidiri. She's planning on using that to go on to med school and then head back to Israel to be a trauma surgeon. She's a healer, but it wasn't a skill she used all that often when we were young. Over the last year, she's been using it all the time. She's the reason I'm not still in a cast and Chuck is alive. After high school, she joined the Israeli army and became a medic. She did two years in the Negev, and then came back here for school. Sarah's Jewish, and when I've finished converting, we'll get married.

His mom went pale when he said that. But she didn't say anything so he continued, Her family is in upstate New York. They raise organic, grass-fed, kosher beef and lamb, and it's ridiculously good. Her parents are dead, so it's her three older brothers and their families. They like me. Her brother Ben is also a magic user. He can feel our magic and knows we're soul bound. She lives in Reevesville. She's self-supporting. What else do you want to know?

How did you meet?

I was allowed to spend ten minutes alone with her after the signing of our betrothal contract. I'd seen her once before then, and she was so beautiful she took my breath away. For ten minutes, I awkwardly tried to keep up a conversation, but had a hard time talking because I was so nervous. She stayed quiet, mostly just listening to me, occasionally adding a few words here or there. Then her mother came in, took her away, and I didn't see her again until our wedding.

She jogged past my door. I was carrying a box up the stairs. She waved. I waved back and went back to unpacking. Half an hour later, she was wandering around in the sculpture garden outside our house. Tom wanted me to go over and say hi. But I didn't want to try and get to know her with Tom there. A bit over a week later she walked into my house with our friend Pat, for Golem. His mother was confused. Our writing group. She nodded. She's not a writer, but she likes to read, so she was willing to join us and do critique work. We'd eat lunch together and became friends.

And fell in love. His mom smiled, a gesture that wasn’t entirely happy, but wasn’t as frustrated as she had been earlier, either.

Chris smiled, images from the dream in his mind. And fell in love.

He watched his mom debate what to say next. Finally, she took both of his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. I can see you're a lot happier, and I can see you're doing better. I'd still like you to see Dr. Blutner, anyway.

Mom, I'm fine. Good Lord, what are you, fourteen? Quit whining!

Chris, you're bipolar.

He sighed inwardly. Until the day Chuck found him, he hadn't seen all that much purpose to staying alive. Crippling depression owned most of his time, but bouts of almost perky would spark to life when he'd remaster some facet of magic or learn a new spell. He'd cut himself when he got bad or take whatever drugs he could find. Two stints in rehab had been the consequence of the drugs. One summer in a psychiatric ward was the consequence of cutting that had gotten far enough out of hand his parents thought it was a suicide attempt. There, he was diagnosed as bipolar. They kept him medicated to his eyeballs for the rest of his high school career.

The first thing Chuck did when he saw Chris, before even saying hello, was burn the drugs out of his system, and he hadn't taken them since.

His mom continued, I know you aren't taking your meds, and haven't since you turned eighteen, but…

Mom, really, I'm fine. I'm managing without them.

No, honey, you aren't. This is the first time we haven't seen you depressed since you went off of them. I'm happy you're feeling better, but you know how this works. You'll have times where you're feeling up. And when you're up, you don't think you need the meds.

I don't think I need the meds when I'm down, either. I don't like how they work. Yes, I don't get as down on them, but I don't get any ups either. It's like living in fog. There are no sharp edges, and I like the edges.

Her frustration was all but palpable as her gaze dropped to his legs. Liking the sharp edges is part of why you were on meds.

Chris yanked up the legs of his pajama pants. See, no fresh scars, no new scabs, nothing. I haven't cut myself in years.

She touched his shoulder and kissed his forehead. Good. I'd still like you to talk to Dr. Blutner. He might be able to give you some extra insight on living with Sarah.

You mean he'll tell me to start taking the medication again, hold off on living with anyone until my coping mechanisms are better, and focus on writing as a creative outlet for my inner demons, while totally missing the fact that I can't write on meds because—

He might tell you that you need to learn to be happy by yourself before it's healthy to start a relationship with someone else. He might tell you that it's not a good idea to build your hopes around a person you've only known for a year.

Chris pulled himself back from the argument. He wasn't a kid. His parents couldn't make him do anything. Yes, but he's not actually going to tell me anything, because I'm not going to see him. Really, I'm fine.

I know we can't make you go. But your father and I both wish you would.

I know.

Does she know?

She's spent the last year with me. She's seen me up and down. I haven't specifically mentioned the diagnosis or that I used to be on lithium, but she's a pre-med major who’s worked with people with PTSD. She knows I'm not quite normal. She knows I'm a mage. She's one, too. She knows that too much magic burns normal out of a person. She knows I was grieving. She knows I was depressed. She knows what happens when you put all of those things together. The only thing she doesn't know is that she was Althiira. And if there's any luck in this world, she never will.

You should tell her.

I will. He finished his Chex. I should go get a shower. Do you need me to run any errands for you?

Nope. Please, think about seeing the doc.

Mom!

Please.

Fine. I will think about it. He put his bowl in the sink and headed upstairs. A nice long shower and finishing up that dream sounded really good.

Chris flicked on the water and set it to hot. He'd get washed up, dry off, text Sarah, and spend the morning talking to her while he searched for jobs online. Saying he was going to support himself was one thing, but it'd be a lot easier to do if he had a job. Every job he'd ever interviewed for ended up his, another perk of his magic, so he wasn't worried about his ability to find one.

He tested the water and stepped in. As he soaped up, he began to imagine where the dream left off. The picture of Sarah climaxing in his lap filled his mind when he felt it happen. There was a second, a heartbeat where it wasn't yet real, where the aching horror of it lingered away from him, and then it hit him full force and knocked him, vomiting, to his knees.

Sarah was gone. Althiira was back.

Chapter 2.

Reevesville, PA

May 11, 2009

Rage, fear, and soul-crushing sorrow filled my world as the image of Hidiri's destruction faded from my mind. I sat there in my kitchen, collapsed by the memories, back against the refrigerator, Pat's letter in my lap, paralyzed by too many feelings.

I was in my room, loading my .45, seeing the image of my boys as our world burned. I didn't know how I had gotten there, but I knew what I was going to do. A soft snick sounded as I pulled back the slide and chambered a round.

Fully loaded and ready to go, I shoved the gun under the waistband of my pants and threw my leather jacket on.

Sitting on the bike, pulling my helmet on, the fact that I didn't know how to get to where Chris was hit me. No matter. I’d figure out what to do with him later. Chuck was here, and I knew how to get to him.

I'd put one bullet in each of his knees, another one in each wrist, one for each of my boys. I'd grind each shattered joint under my heel until he was whimpering with pain. Then I'd reverse the healing I'd done for him, melt his face and his eyes, let him feel them ooze out of his head. That would be for Pat. When he was screaming, insensible to anything and everything else, I'd blow his brains out. That would be for me.

Chuck's brains, splattered on the wall behind him in pulpy grays and reds, filled my mind when I got to his house. Becky, his sister, was on a towel in the tiny front yard, catching a little sun.

That was a bucket of cold water on my bloody fantasy. Becky would call the cops if I just ran in there and started shooting. I couldn't finish, couldn't kill them all if I was in jail.

Hey, Sarah, she called from the grass. What's up?

Urgh… I couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

You looking for Chuck? He's at work now and has a date later. He told me not to expect him until tomorrow.

Yeah. I'll text him instead. No big deal. I forced a smile on my face, or at least pulled my lips back.

Now what?

I left Chuck's and rode without my brain engaging. I needed to plan. I needed to figure out how to do this without getting tossed in jail. I needed a place to work, because the more I thought about it, the more I wanted this to take a long, long time. A million years wouldn’t be long enough. A million years also wouldn't be possible, but the longer I could draw it out, the more pain I could spread around, the better.

My bike ate up miles, humming over brick roads between old oaks and shabby Victorian-style houses in need of paint and new windows. The image of Chris and Chuck fighting Mildred… Mjur… ran through my mind. They could fight. They could kill. And me… Fuck!

I had to learn how to do the sort of magic that would drop Chris to his knees and make him scream until his voice failed and then scream more as his soul bled from the pain. Cruising around Reevesville, I tried to come up with a plan, but carefully thought out ideas of how to go about getting revenge wouldn't form. Anger was still too bright, too violent to let me think properly.

Eventually, my bike stopped, idling in the empty parking lot in front of the ravine. I went in, wanting to get close to what was left of my world for a moment, feel whatever shreds of it were still alive on the other side. Maybe I could rip the portal back open, let what was left of the angels come back. Just because Mjur was gone didn't mean there weren't any others left.

Less than one hundred yards into the ravine, the sweet, sick, putrid smell of decayed flesh hit me. It was faint, and I wondered if it was a small animal. It got stronger as I kept walking to where the doorway had been.

By the time I got to where the dead zone used to be, I was almost choking on it. I wanted to run away, but at the same time felt compelled know what it was.

Obviously not a small animal. The smell was so strong it had to be at least the size of a deer, and I had a cold feeling that I wouldn't feel nearly so compelled to keep walking forward into the ravine, hunting for whatever it was, if it had been a deer.

Halfway up the west side of the ravine, behind a boulder, I caught sight of a sneaker. I closed my eyes, took a deep, calming breath, and gagged on the putrid air.

I looked again. It had been a man. I tore my eyes away fast, but not fast enough to keep the image out of my mind. Gory details of destroyed flesh burned into my mind. A bit of dark hair and the clothing struck a chord in my memory. That faint sound began to vibrate louder and louder, and when the name Dave came to me, my blood was pounding so hard my vision went red.

My brother was dead.

Too fucking much! I started screaming, full on horror movie screams, just to let some of it out. The ache and horror of Dave lying there dead, without even a burial, just open to the animals, made me ill, made me want to call down the wind and the lightning to burn him brightly so that no one could ever forget him. I stood tall over him, screaming to the heavens, and called the wind. I felt for the storm, because there's always a storm somewhere. And this time of year, there's usually one close by. But the wind wouldn't come and the lightning didn't obey me.

I collapsed next to his body and sobbed. Wracking tears of hate and anger and grief all combined into a supernova of emotion. Eventually, like a star, they burned themselves out, leaving me weak and broken.

Eventually, I forced myself up and headed toward home. I didn't want to leave Dave in the open, and Allan could help.

Allan, my landlord, lived in the basement and first floor of the tidy, gray Victorian house we both called home. There were flowerbeds in front of our house and a small vegetable garden behind it, so he had to have a shovel.

He must have sensed my mood, because I heard him spring up and bolt to the door as I stepped onto the porch.

The door opened before I touched it.

Sarah? He was a good enough reader of people to sense something was wrong with me. His brown eyes were wide with alarm.

Most of the time, Allan, a small, brown mouse of a man, projected an image of meekness and defeat. But when danger got near, his real self came out, and his real self was sharp and hard, with a brittle edge. Much like the obsidian blade he held in his hand, ready to attack whatever might have caused my distress.

Do you have a shovel? My question confused him. He was expecting something big and bad running up behind me, not a request for gardening hardware.

Yeah, why? He stepped back from the door and ushered me into his half of the house, his nose prickling as the smell wafted in with me.

I found Dave.

Allan's face crumpled, and understanding washed away apprehension. I could feel that he had been waiting for this to happen. His mouse demeanor came back; his shoulders curled in on themselves, his hunched posture slumping a few inches off his height. Allan's hair seemed to fade, and his eyes swapped their intense polished-walnut color for a muddy dark-brown.

I've got two shovels. I'll help you. I had hoped when none of you seemed to notice that he didn't come back, his spell would hold. He slipped on work boots and began to tie them.

Why do you know what happened?

Remember, three days before your big fight he came to me to talk about how to hide this plane? I nodded; there was a vague memory of Dave talking about it in the back of my mind. We talked about how it would work and what the consequences would be. Once he knew how it would end up, he gave me the focus he used for the spell to wipe himself from everyone's memory.

Of course he'd cast a spell to wipe him from memory. That was such a Dave sort of thing to do. Tell me about it—when we're done with this.

Okay.

We went into the backyard where he had a small shed. He undid the padlock, reached in, and grabbed the shovels, then turned, looked back at me, and sensed that there was more than just Dave on my mind. His eyes flicked to my hair, and I felt a small quiver of alarm.

What?

Nothing. He sounded evasive.

I pulled a hank of hair in front of my face so I could see it. White strands, a lot of them, threaded through the black. How long this time? It had taken less than five days for it to go white the first time.

It happened this way before.

Allan stared at me for a long time, curiosity and dread in his gaze. What happened to you?

We can talk about that when we get back, too. Now, it's time to lay my brother to rest. His interest caught on how I referred to Dave, but he didn’t say anything.

As we got closer to Dave's body, Allan began to cast. A soft breeze eased the smell away from us. You're going to have to show me how to do that.

Can't Chris do it?

No. He won't be teaching me anything ever again.

Sarah, what happened to you?

I turned toward him, my emotions surging again. Althiira. I was Althiira. Yesterday, my world burned. Yesterday, I was Sarah, and I was happy. Yesterday, I held my children and hoped my husband would come home to us before we died. Yesterday, we texted and talked happily, and I was looking forward to meeting his parents and having sex with him again. Yesterday, my skin cracked and burned and my children wailed and we all fucking died! I stabbed my shovel into the ground and began to dig. And today, my brother is dead. My home is dead. I hate my husband because he fucking killed me, killed our children. And I hate that Sarah is gone because Sarah was happy, and I want to be happy, and happy doesn't fucking exist anymore.

Allan didn't have anything to say to that. We dug the pit in silence. I didn't want to have to move Dave too far, so the pit was a few feet from him. As I tossed each shovelful of dirt to the side, memories of the two of us flashed through my head.

Irinith, Hidiri

Summer Waning 12, YP 26,060

This is Dia. Alltin Ath Dia Glun held the tiny azure infant in the crook of his arm while his three older children drew near to see him. Jreshin and Syq, his two oldest boys, didn’t look impressed, but adolescent boys are rarely impressed by babies. Althiira stared at him, her dark-blue eyes wide.

She stared at her new brother, his face placid in sleep, his skin the bright, vibrant blue of a newborn. Then she looked at her hand, the color of moonlit milk, and then at her brothers and her father, all of whom were shades of light sky-blue. Her strawberry-pink eyebrows scrunched together. He's the wrong color, Papa.

Syq, her second oldest brother, laughed. "We all start out that color, Ali. You were that color when you were a brand