Chương 86: 83 • RIVEN

59 RIVEN 🙜 K y had expected to feel empty. Emptier than ever before. Having told all at long last, surely there must be a burden lifted from her—a sense of peace, of quietude. Surely the clamoring voices must hush, and all the world must sigh in relief that those long-held secrets were fled from her. But stone-voice went on creaking beneath her and wind-voices rushed overhead, and the myriad voices of the little birds and beetles who had made their nests in the mountain clefts chattered on and on.

Regret prickled her spine. She had never before feared a man, but this man she feared. Feared what Ember was thinking at that very moment, of what he would do to her, now that he knew what she had done to him. Doubtless he had not really believed that she could bring him to harm—he had been too enamored of her at first—but no mortal creature could ever mistake her story for a lie.

By far the worst of it all was that he now understood that truth which had departed from the memories of men: that the core of her soul was riven and dead, along with the rest of her kin… and, when they might have begged for mercy, they had chosen instead to follow the whims of a mad siren, splintering the kingdom of men and unraveling the very weavings of magic in their lust for the beautiful blood of his people. Have I not earned some portion of your trust? he had said, not long ago.

You have mine, if you wish for it… Never again would he trust her. Never again would he yearn for her touch. And yet it was his touch, his words of assurance, which she so jealously craved—his living fingers, warming hers with each beat of his human heart—unafraid of the river-folk, of her cold and slippery embrace. The song of his blood melted away like snow in a spring thaw, insignificant before the thought of his hand upon hers. But Ky was resolved to speak no further.

She would not beg for her life, already having sought his understanding, a more valuable thing by far; it would not be meet to seek his forgiveness also. Instead, she knelt with her face turned to the stone steps and her hands outstretched, listening to him breathe in a steady measure. Only when she could not withstand his relentless silence did she risk a glance up at the looming throne.

A ray of evening light wandered down from an aperture in the ceiling, spilling over a tumble of golden curls and drawing her attention to his prominent nose. He sat very tall, head tilted against the high back of the chair, chin lifted. His arms rested softly on the stone wings of the throne, as if they had been graven for him alone, and not an unknowable lineage of long-dead kings. Heavy lines darkened his brow and shadows smudged beneath his closed eyes.

Something of Ember yet lingered in that face, but all the youthful ignorance was gone. Tears had streaked through the grime on his cheeks and his somber aspect was not like to that of mortal men… As if her story had granted him but a few of the many seasons she had endured. Even in this, you have hurt him. Just as Ky inhaled softly, he leaned forward and opened his eyes.

"Why do you tell me this now?" His speech was unexpectedly quiet, capturing her focus as deftly as a siren's song. She stared up at him in confusion and he waved a hand casually, resting his elbows on his knees and losing the rest of his kingly appearance.

"I mean, why did you tell me after all this time, instead of keeping your secrets? I asked you for them often… you know that all I ever wanted was the truth." Ky returned her attention to the stone steps, digging her claw into a thin crack that ran through the ancient rock. But no answer came readily to her tongue. For she felt that he knew already—he only wished to hear it in her own words.

"Ky," he prompted in a whisper, and the whole of her shivered at the sound. He liked to speak her name, and once it gladdened her. Now, it made her sad to hear it.

"Because," she confessed wearily, "all these many days and nights, I am wishing to find a way that I might take your soul for my own. I never am wanting to take it all. I have no wish to end your life. And I am afraid that if I tell you so much, you will leave before I am knowing… how to accomplish this…" He shifted.

"And now?" Ky blinked down at the stone, casting about for any human words that might express her emotions, which were slowly tangling and strangling themselves into a wretched nothingness; she found none.

"You failed to find any spells or enchantments in this mountain on your own," he said simply, sounding very tired, "and now… now, after trying everything but to ask the one you call 'friend' for help, you have come to me at last. Is that it? You want me to feel pity for you, to relinquish my soul to you?" Wriggling slightly, Ky sniffed and wrung her hands. It was true, in part. But to hear it from him, in such plain speech, mortified her.

"I do not come to you, Ember, for any thing." The words dropped from her tongue without emotion.

"I will never come to you again." Ember stood. He took the stairs one at a time, until he stood on the step above her head, and there he crouched and grasped her sticky hands in his much larger ones. Ky stiffened, but he had already pulled them to his lips and planted a dry, scratchy kiss upon her knuckles. His breath warmed her fingers.

"I am Ember, son of Jarel—" Ky's glance darted to his in fleeting confusion, and then around the room to see if there was any other figure he might be addressing, but he spoke as one who knew what he was about. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"—and I deny the claim of the wildwood upon your soul." Her eyes went wide, for as the words fell upon her, he suddenly appeared to her more like a crownless king than a boy.

"Surely there is no curse nor darkness which can have lasting power in a realm of broken magic," he reasoned, "so in the name of the kings who ruled beneath this mountain, I demand that the wildwood restore Ky Veli's soul." Her heart trembled with desire.

The words resounded with such vibrant authority that for a moment she almost believed them: now that he had declared such a thing—as the wondrous creature he looked to be—surely the great light of his song would quench her thirst, reweave the threads of fate which had been sundered from siren-kind. No—this is nothing but foolishness. Even so, Ky licked her fangs and shivered.

"What are you doing…?" He smiled carefully, lips parting, and she could see his straight, human teeth behind them.

"Putting things to rights, of course—as my ancestors ought to have done so long ago." As moments passed into minutes, she felt no less hungry, no less empty. His attention weighed heavily upon her, and she was already uncomfortable with their closeness. She tried to tug her hands away but he moved his grip further up her arms, catching the bones of her wrist. Did he believe in his own power? The daylight spilled between them, bathing Ember in a golden glow.

His clear blue eyes were wide and unguarded, and she cowered before them, breathless in her shame.

"Perhaps," she pleaded—hesitated—and loathed herself, "once more…" He took a breath, and then rose, pulling her upright with him.

"I am a son of men, and I cast away the curse of the wildwood and restore to Ky Veli a living soul." She looked away, waiting quietly in the light of the thrones. Neither of them moved. The light dimmed slowly as time passed, and she knew the sun was setting outside the stony hall, but Ember remained as still as the carven thrones above them. Ky shivered, suddenly cold. Ember blinked.

"Do I… do I appear as I always am, to you?" she sniffed finally. She knew in her heart what he would say. He sighed, relaxing his grip on her hands.

"Did your ancestors appear any different, before their souls were riven?"

"How am I to be knowing this?"

"Well, what of the hunger? The emptiness?" Ky hissed faintly; the sound rose up from deep within her bones, an insulting reminder of her otherness. The reminder made her angrier, and all the more envious of the glowing pool of magic which he harbored beneath his ribs. Ember withdrew, pulling his hands from her. His mouth tightened at the corners, and Ky felt the burden of more and more unspoken blame crushing all around her ribs. It was getting difficult to breathe beneath the weight of it. You are cruel.

And yet how foolish—how deceived! —she had been. To dare think even for a moment that any mortal might avail her eternal suffering, to hope that he could shape the magic within himself, as only the tongues of her own people ever could. The Elder had been mistaken. There is no magic left in men. Ember pulled away, muttering something inaudible as he trudged down the steps, shoulders slumped and head bowed. She ached to call after him. But no, not after such humiliation.

Ember reached the seventh pillar and paused, crossing the hall and marching slowly back toward the thrones along the other row. Ky watched him from the dais, following his path with her eyes alone. His face was downcast as he walked, and his lips moved in a quiet murmur. When he was close enough to hear again, she realized that he was chanting her name under his breath, over and over.

"… Ky Veli, I release you from your bonds… I release you, Ky Veli… I, Ember, son of Jarel, revoke the curse of the wildwood… I restore what was lost to the sirena Ky Veli… Little Fish… I set free the Little Fish…" He was utterly in earnest. Each word carefully strung together, in the softest lullaby or the sternest command, as he spoke those words in every manner a mortal could possibly conceive. If there was an incantation to unravel the ancient magic of her people, he was determined to find it and speak it aloud.

Ky had never known the relief of tears, but now she wished to weep at last; perhaps that would ease the tremendous pressure welling up in her heart. As Ember turned and began to pace away, she slipped into the darkness behind the pillars. From this vantage point, she wrapped her arms around the cold stone and watched him warily, feeling her ribs expand and press against the column with every breath.

There were tales told by the Elder of sirens who had sung themselves into the earth, their magic joining with that which flowed beneath; at that time, Ky could not fathom why any creature should wish to abandon their body in such a way, to fully lose all sense of themselves, but now she felt she would do anything to escape the seething sorrow.

It sang an old, old song, that stone—the song of Ember's people, of steady hands and sweat and toil, of kingly words echoing through this very hall, of screams and wailing and gnashing of teeth as the end of their rule drew near. Of loneliness… abandonment… neglect. This mountain had slumbered for an age in patient silence, waiting for someone to return to its halls and remember its former majesty. And the stone-voice hummed contently as Ember's footsteps padded along the hall.

He was as much an outcast as she, but she was to blame, and it would only worsen if she remained with him. The magic from which the sirens were born—and that which had riven their waking souls—was wild and old and savage. There would be no sundering of such a curse. To take his soul for herself had always been a foolish plan, for it would not truly be her own, but a twisted spectre of Ember which lived on in another form. She could no longer believe otherwise after touching the souls in the snatch's lair.

To mend a rivensoul had proved a feat beyond even the Elder's capabilities, with all his might and wisdom. In the old days, when men were stronger, perhaps. Not now. Not ever. What will become of him if you linger by his side, Little Fish? What solace can you offer apart from your magic? Ember still has a chance to live out the rest of his mortal days in peace and contentment, if he but finds a woman who will have him… perhaps his Isabel…

Ky swallowed again, half-closing her eyes, and blearily watched him walk across the hall, still muttering foolish nonsense that he did not understand. Will you deny him that life? The longer you darken his sight, the more unlikely that future becomes… Snail-Skin… Trembling, Ky slipped behind the next pillar in the row, losing herself in the wispy shadows as she so often had in the trees behind his nest. This was a game she had played many times, and she knew he would not see if she was careful.

He continued to pace and mutter, occasionally waving a hand in thought. When he began walking back toward the dais, Ky slipped out from behind the pillars and padded quickly down the hall, her eyes set on the door. She wanted him to follow—to be sure of his freedom. The sunlight now slanted into the hall in the patterns of the trees outside, streaming across the stone and bringing with it light and warmth.

She had almost reached the Plains Gate when Ember's scuffling footsteps hitched, and she felt his eyes upon her.

"Ky?" Scampering the last few steps to the entrance of the cavernous mountain stronghold, Ky pressed her inky fingers against the open space. Sunlight glowed through the palm of her hand, and beyond it lay a broad flat stretch of grass. Patches of an ancient stone road could be seen as a breeze whispered through, and to either side there rustled an endless sea of trees.

"Ky, wait!" Confusion gave way to panic.

"What are you doing!" Footsteps pounded behind her, and she threw herself against the barrier. The invisible door resisted for a harrowing moment, and then Ky stumbled out onto the overgrown cobblestone road, a sudden breath of wind warming her skin and drying her eyes. Heavy thumping scuffed the crumbling stones and Ky ran faster, darting off the grassy trail and weaving through the trees. She did not deserve any part of him. This flight was the only path left to her—the path she had always taken, in the end.