Diviner (9 page)

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the grinding stone.”

“Why?” Solace asked, her voice quavering again. “Your father is dead.”

“I didn’t hear any other screams. Maybe I can help those two boys.”

“The dragons said the fall into the stone sometimes is enough to kill a human, so we wouldn’t have heard them scream. They might already be dead.”

Jason shook his head. The dragons probably told the victims that story to settle them down, make them believe they wouldn’t suffer. “I have to check. It’s the least I can do. And I’m not going to let them use my father’s remains as bait for wild beasts.”

Solace pressed her lips together as if firming her resolve. “I’ll be brave, but I hope you’ll hurry. If you don’t come back, I won’t have anywhere to go.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Jason said, slipping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle hug. “No matter what happens to me, I’m sure Fellina will return for you.”

“The dragon?” Solace pulled away and touched her shoulder. “I hope not.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt you,” Jason said reaching toward the wound. “She was just —”

Solace swiveled away from his touch. “Dragons always mean to hurt. They do nothing but hurt. They are cruel and heartless.”

Jason drew back his hand. What could he say? Solace had experienced nothing but cruelty, and even Fellina considered her an expendable beast. Not only that, dragons had killed his own father. Truly they were murderers — evil, villainous cowards who drained every drop of sweat and blood from their captives before disposing of them in the most horrific way imaginable.

“You’re right, but I don’t have any choice.” Jason rose and squared his shoulders. “I will be back. If Fellina comes first, that’s fine. Just tell her where I went. We’ll get together again somehow.”

“I’ll trust you, then.” Solace got up and sat next to the nearest tree. She pulled the tunic’s shoulders over her head and sank into the roomy material. Then she drew her legs in, making them disappear as well. “Hurry back,” she called, her voice muffled.

Jason let a smile emerge. “I will.” But the smile quickly wilted. The pain was too heavy, too deep. The wound in his heart wouldn’t allow more than a split second of relief.

Blinking away new tears, he took a deep breath and marched ahead. As he drew near the edge of the trees, the basin came into view. His father’s scream echoed in his mind—loud, pain-streaked, abrupt. His final living moment was one of torture, a crushing of body and bones that squeezed out a desperate cry and then silenced him forever.

He stopped at the tree line and looked out over the arid terrain. In the distance, the Zodiac’s spires rose above the rocks and scant trees, and the Basilica’s belfry stood nearby, symbols of dragon authority and rule over Starlight.

Jason spat on the ground. This planet wasn’t Starlight. It was the darkest place in the universe. If any planet deserved to be called Darksphere, this was it.

He checked the sky. No dragons flew anywhere in sight. With a quick swing, he hacked a branch from a fallen tree. Although the leaves had turned brown, they were dense enough to conceal him if necessary.

Regripping his sword, he marched ahead. Someone had to bring light to this dark world, and rescuing two innocent boys from the grindstone would be the first step.

six

 

I
nside Exodus, Koren alternately walked and slid closer to Brinella, who stood beside the untouched stardrop at the lowest point of the sloping floor. Although regal in expression and dress, Brinella still wore no crown, contrary to Taushin’s expectations. Yet, crown or no crown, they had to resurrect this star so the slaves could be freed.

When she reached Brinella, Koren turned and surveyed the breach in the wall. “At the rate the star deflates, we’ll have to work together to have any hope of success.” She glanced at the red stain on Brinella’s dress. “Especially since you’re wounded.”

Her expression softer now, Brinella touched her side. “I thought it would eventually heal. It hurts, but it doesn’t bleed. It simply makes me feel weak all the time.”

“That’s why we have to work together.” Koren compressed Brinella’s hand. “Since Starlight gives you all the stories, it’s up to you to let them flow to me. I’ll see if I can absorb them and retell them with more power. If I direct them away from the hole, maybe we can fill the sphere before they exit.”

“It’s worth a try.” With her face again displaying a rainbow of flashing colors, Brinella took a deep breath. “I have been holding them in for several minutes, so prepare yourself.”

Koren walked across the curved floor and settled back against the hole, blocking it with her body. “Okay. Let’s see what happens.”

Brinella’s face, now dark purple, swelled. Her chest expanded, and her back bent inward. Then, like a striking viper, her body snapped forward, her mouth opening as her head whipped. Colorful light roared from her throat and streamed toward Koren, splashing against her waist. The colors washed over her body and filtered through her clothing, soaking her with multihued radiance. Like a confused mob, a thousand voices spoke at once, some angry, some lamenting, some as quiet as a whisper. Yet none seemed clear enough to distinguish.

With the influx, it seemed as if Koren’s own thoughts were pushed to the side while the competing voices took control. A stream of light, blue and glittering, spewed forth from her lips, and a frightened tone spiced her voice. “She has the plague! There is no hope!”

As the blue flow headed toward the sphere’s ceiling, a radiant magenta stream followed, this one with a calmer, soothing voice. “We are paying a severe penalty for our foolishness. Our only hope is to heed Magnar’s advice.”

Then, like a sporadic fountain, gush after gush erupted from Koren’s mouth, displaying more colors than she had ever seen. With each one, she provided a louder voice, but they came so quickly, it seemed impossible to tell where the statements began and ended.

“The plague will devour your body until it’s a useless relic, perishable unless you consume the substance of the cause …” And the words rambled on. Streams of radiance continued to shoot toward the ceiling, collecting there as if drawn by the light in the opening above. The transparent wall vibrated. Rocks surrounding the sphere crumbled, striking the outer surface before falling to the chamber floor. Then, as if buoyed by an unseen cushion of air, Exodus began to rise.

Finally, Brinella’s eruption ceased. Now without a source, Koren’s flow ebbed until a final globule of light flew from her lips, followed by a whisper. “Now we will learn the nature of this fruit. Is it borne of faith or of fear?”

As she looked up at the mass of shimmering blobs, Koren let her arms and legs go limp. She took in a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Sweat trickled down her cheek and dampened the shirt under her dress. “It’s—” She coughed, clearing her voice. “It’s working.”

“Probably not for long,” Brinella said. “Even without the hole, the light always escapes. It just takes a little longer for it to push through the membrane.”

As Brinella predicted, the globules of light began sifting through the sphere’s skin, popping out as swimming whisperers before climbing through the air toward the opening above.

Koren checked her position. Her body still fully blocked the wound. “How did you control the star’s movement when you floated through the sky?”

“When Exodus was airborne, I was able to will its movements with my mind. I also used to control the tales more easily and tell them whenever I wished, but it has been so long, and I am so weak, I no longer feel the power.”

“Once we get it airborne, you can try. For now, just keep feeding me tales of Starlight, and I’ll keep filling the sphere.”

“Very well.” Grimacing, Brinella laid a hand on her side. “I will do what I can.”

Koren kept her limbs splayed. “I’ll magnify whatever you’re able to deliver.”

Lowering herself to her knees, Brinella folded her hands and looked toward the sky. She closed her eyes and spoke in a rhythmic cadence.

Creator,
The bringer of life, singer of songs,
The breaker of strife, righter of wrongs,
Regard my estate, humble and low;
Remove this dread weight, let my light flow.

 

As light, white and pulsing, flowed from Brinella’s face, Koren felt her mouth drop open. What was happening? Her own prayers hadn’t done this before, even when she sang them.

Brinella continued, her countenance becoming more dazzling with each word.

You gave me this vow, chains of pure love,
Accepting I bowed, shackled above;
So do what you must, be who you are;
Produce from the dust, make a new star.

 

The light emanating from her face continued to pulse, growing brighter and gaining substance. With every throb, a layer of Brinella’s body peeled away, each layer attached to the previous one and spiraling upward as if she were unraveling. The lead end of the coil of light rose to the apex of the sphere and pierced the top. Soon Brinella’s body shrank, leaving only a floating ball with bright green eyes.

Still attached to the rising coil, it floated to Koren and brushed against her cheek. A whisper passed into her ears. “Good-bye, Starlighter. Thank you for taking my place.” Then the ball unraveled completely, and the stream of light disappeared through the apex.

Koren climbed to her feet, sliding down as she stumbled toward the floor’s center. The toe of her boot struck the stardrop, making it roll up the wall. “Taking your place?” she shouted. “I can’t take your place!”

Her words bounced, echoing throughout the star’s core. The remaining light from Brinella’s stories streamed toward the wound. Exodus drifted downward, faster now. The stardrop rolled back and settled near her boots.

As Exodus continued to descend, Koren stared at the contrast, stark-white radiance next to the blackest of leather. Would she be able to do Brinella’s job? She knew so little, especially about the Creator. Sealing the hole with the stardrop would make it easier, but that would entrap her forever. Surely no one truly expected her to make such a sacrifice.

When the final globule of light exited, the sphere’s walls began to wrinkle. Like a slowly deflating balloon, Exodus shrank. The ambient light within faded, and the entire chamber grew dim.

“No!” Koren turned in a slow circle. Lifting her hands, she shouted upward. “Creator, don’t let this happen! We need Exodus! We need a guiding star!”

Again her words echoed, this time warped, as if bent by the wrinkling wall, but now they appeared as a stream of light that brushed by her ears each time the words repeated. Her own voice crying out, “We need a guiding star!” pierced her mind, feeling like a dagger with every repetition.

Dropping to her knees, she looked up. The ceiling continued to collapse, drawing nearer to her head. “I can’t do this!” she shouted. “I am not a Starlighter, at least not one like Brinella. I can’t be a guiding angel. I don’t know enough about you.”

She lowered her head and wept. Visions of slaves entered her mind—Wallace as a boy, still with two eyes, cringing in front of a dragon who carried a hot poker in his clawed hand; Petra struggling against a dragon as it held open her mouth and inserted a knife; Natalla dragging chains into the Basilica theater room just before her trial.

“Koren?”

Natalla stooped in front of her, her wrists still bound by chains. The links suddenly crumbled into dust. She lifted a hand and caressed Koren’s cheek. “I am free now, dear sister, because of you. You faced Maximus at the Basilica, helped me escape execution at the trial, and offered yourself as a sacrifice at the mine. Because of love, you risked death for me, and now I live in peace with a new father. I still work, to be sure, but now because I love to serve my new father, and we work together to make a home.” She picked up the stardrop and held it in her palm. “You know how to resurrect Exodus, but you cannot do so as long as you allow the chains of slavery to remain. A slave cannot do the work of a daughter of light. A slave works under compulsion. A daughter works for love alone.”

Natalla faded away, and the stardrop, bright and shining, appeared on the floor where it had been before.

Koren blinked. How could she have conjured Natalla and given voice to her new experiences? Could those thoughts be wishful thinking, a projection of her hopes? She nudged the stardrop with her finger. Perhaps this piece of Exodus, still radiant in spite of the star’s deterioration, had a lot of power. Then again, if Exodus knew only tales of Starlight, it couldn’t tell about the happenings on Darksphere. Who could possibly know what was going on in that world?

As the walls warped and wrinkled, the ceiling continued its slow descent, now only ten feet or so above her. She rose to her full height and reached with both hands toward it, hoping to support it when it fell that far.

The stardrop continued shining, sparkling, pulsing. As she concentrated on its radiance, the wrinkled walls faded, and a corridor appeared, the same one she had been in earlier when Deference guided her. The door that no one would answer was now open.

Koren lowered her hands and peeked inside. The room appeared to be empty; an expanse of marble floor stretched as far as she could see. She leaned into the room, then stepped fully inside. Although Deference and her aura weren’t there this time, light was plentiful.

She stood on a bare floor of white marble with surrounding white walls, and a white ceiling loomed above. With perfect whiteness all around, it was impossible to guess the distance to the boundaries or to be sure of the room’s shape.

A whisper entered her ears, as if spoken by someone within reach. “Close the doors, Starlighter.”

Koren reached for the doors, but there were no handles to grab. Gripping the side of each, she pulled them toward herself and jumped back, allowing them to swing. When they met at the center, the gap disappeared. Every line that framed the entry sealed and vanished.

She called out, “The doors are closed. What am I supposed to do next?”

The voice returned, this time louder and clearly masculine. “Prophesy, Starlighter, for such is your purpose.”

Looking up, Koren walked backwards, searching for the source. “Prophesy? What do you mean? How can I predict the future?”

“Predicting the future is a narrow definition. To prophesy is to reveal, to uncover, to speak forth that which you see. It is a simple task for a Starlighter.”

Koren touched the edge of her cloak. “If you mean that I should tell a tale, then I can do that, but what tale do you wish to hear?”

“Your stage is blank. It is a canvas for your mind. Fill it, Starlighter, with the mysteries you long to solve. Answer the questions that torture you.”

Koren looked up. At least that direction seemed to be up. Which questions did he mean? So many had tortured her mind. She looked at her wrists, both still marred by manacle wounds. Chains. This had been the biggest question. Was Taushin right about love requiring chains? So far, he had been proven right about so many things. Yet one mystery still haunted her mind. When she cried out to the Creator during Taushin’s chastising jolts, the pain fled, but her manacles remained. What good did it do to provide temporary relief without granting freedom? Any refusal to obey Taushin would have resulted in another jolt. Whatever it meant, it seemed clear that the answers lay so deep in mystery, she would have to start at the beginning.

She lifted her hood over her head and spread out her cloak, giving it a dramatic twirl. “Starlight, a world less bright, forsaking wisdom’s call …” She exhaled. The words in her mind evaporated. Her arms felt heavy, weak.

“What’s wrong with me?” she called out. “I don’t feel the power.”

“Starlighter …” The voice took on a stern tone. “You cannot prophesy here if you are in an unclean state, for this place is holy.”

She looked at her palms, no more soiled than usual. “Unclean? I don’t understand.”

“You are not such a fool. Your days of claiming ignorance have come to an end.”

“Ignorance?”

“Repeating my words makes you a hollow echo. Gird yourself with courage and examine yourself. Although you are better than most, a standing of relative goodness will not provide you with access should you ever reach the Creator’s door.”

Koren pulled in her bottom lip. No more talk. Her tongue was just digging a deeper hole. Examine herself?

What could that mean? She looked down at her body. The room’s pristine whiteness made her clothes look blacker than ever, like a pile of soot on clean sheets. Could that be it? Her clothes? Taushin had forbidden her to remove her symbolic dress, but Taushin couldn’t see her now. In this room of white, even his memory seemed foreign and out of place.

After taking off her cloak, she stripped the dress over her head and threw it to the floor. Although she now wore only a pair of knee-length trousers and a short-sleeved white tunic, her exposed skin stayed comfortable, still warmed by her Exodus abode.

As she wrapped the cloak around her body again, her boots came into view, still on her feet and still black. Not long ago, those boots were a hated addition, a sign of Taushin’s controlling influence. Now that they had stretched to fit, however, they seemed a part of her, cozy and snug instead of cramped and constricting, perfect for the Northlands climate. They were just footwear, not something that should weigh her down as she told a story.