Page 36 of Requiem of Silence

“We learn through trial and error, that is the way of knowledge.” Nikora spreads her arms. “The first spirits who answered our call were angry. We are refining the technique, seeking to assert a larger degree of control over them when they arrive.”

“And how will the Wailers help with this?” It’s all madness, but your curiosity has been piqued.

She motions to one of the tattooed attendants standing by the door. He leaves briefly and returns with another man in tow—this one dressed similarly to Nikora, wearing a billowing red robe. Dark, fathomless black eyes peer at you curiously from a milk-pale face.

“Bring it over here, Cayro,” Nikora says, and the newcomer approaches bearing a large wooden box. You scoop up your teacup to avoid it being knocked over as he sets it on the table.

The box is adorned with an image of a waterfall carved into the lid. Cayro steps out of the way as Nikora leans forward to open the box reverently and pull out a glass jar. Inside the jar is a bit of what looks like scorched, shriveled leather.

“This is all that is left of the great power of the Physicks. All that remains of the Great Machine, the source of Dahlia’s breath.”

“In her name do we work,” Cayro intones.

“By her grace do we prosper,” Nikora whispers, lifting the jar and pressing her forehead to it, eyes closed. “Saint Dahlia’s flesh. A bit of her left behind and holy enough to catalyze the power of the machine.”

Revulsion swamps you as you regard the contents of the jar more closely. It is actually the remains of a hand, four grotesquely curved, blackened fingers, mummified in some way.

Nikora opens her eyes, gazing adoringly at the disgusting remains of her goddess. “The Great Machine preserved the flesh, extended its power, focused and amplified it. But we can still perform certain rites with the flesh alone—though each attempt will sacrifice more, and there is little enough left. That is why it is imperative that we succeed quickly.”

You shudder at the zealotry evident in her voice. A gaze at Cayro standing stiffly beside her reveals nothing in his expression. Is he as much of a fanatic as she?

“So you want me to control the Wailers and use their Earthsong to tear open another portal into the World After? What about when the angry spirits come through?”

“We do not know that is what will happen.”

“You have the evidence of it happening before, do you not?”

She places the jar back in the box and closes it, much to your relief. “In our excitement to test the process, the summoning spell did not contain enough precautions. The next time, we will be better able to control the spirits.”

You have your doubts about that, but do not voice them. “Teach me how to summon them. Perhaps I can help to strengthen the spell.”

Her eyes narrow. “I will teach you your part, the part requiring Earthsong. That is all you need to know.”

“As an ally,” you begin, teeth clenched, “I must have information in order to hold up my end of the bargain.”

“You will know what you need and no more.” Her eyes flash.

The spark inside you rises, longing to lash out, unused to being suppressed for so long. But you lean back. Force yourself to relax. Take a breath, sip some tea.

Playing this her way is against your nature, but you have been patient before. Nothing worth having comes easily.

You shrug. “Very well then.” The words sting coming out, but it is all a means to an end. Breaking the chains she thinks she’s bound you in will be sweet.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Our footsteps are a map

for others to follow.

Walk well.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Kyara left Ella’s home with a vow to return at dawn. The woman had secured space on a Sisterhood transport leaving for the eastern army base the next morning. On the drive back to the cottage, Kyara wondered how she could discourage Darvyn from coming with her. She didn’t think it was possible, but didn’t want him anywhere near the Cavefolk again. Her options were few.

The cottage was dark when she entered. Good, he was still in town. She located the carpetbag he’d acquired for her when they left the palace. She didn’t have many belongings, just a few donateddresses, an extra pair of shoes, a nightgown, some toiletries. Still, it was more than she’d ever really owned in her life.

The last item she packed was a small, wrapped bundle, but she wavered for long minutes before deciding to place it into the bag. The coldness of the stone inside radiated out through the soft fabric to chill her hand. It wasn’t exactly something she could leave behind, though its oddness both frightened and enticed her.

---