Page 72 of Requiem of Silence

“Learn what?”

“Blood magic.”

The question stymies you. “I cannot recall. I have lived many lifetimes and learned many things.”

She snorts, derisive. “What would be helpful is for you to use that knowledge to take the Songs of the Wailers and give them to me.” You suppose that would help her, but the current arrangement suits you.

Reasoning with Nikora is proving to be a dead end. This woman is far too stupid to lead for long. Her devotion to thefrivolous faith these Physicks hold has blinded her, but your eyes are open.

You scan the room as she prattles on and on about St. Dahlia’s mission and how blessed it is and destined for success. How the Physicks will rule once immortality is theirs and they rebuild the Great Machine.

The jar of desiccated flesh is nowhere in sight, thank the seeds, but on the sideboard next to the table lies a small stash of strange objects that were not there before. Several pairs of spectacles, two compasses, pens, loops of metal and stiff rope, boxy devices with wires sticking out of them, mugs and shoes and watches and even a telephone. A handful of small discs are off to one side, they are not unlike the medallion that Nikora wears.

Are these all amalgamations? She must be stockpiling them, hoarding their remaining quintessence. These medallions mimic Songs. With one of those, you can leave this place. Leave this madwoman to her spirits and her lost cause.

As she prattles, you yawn and ask for a drink. She pauses, midsentence, surprised at the interruption, and tracks your walk around the table to the other side, closer to the sideboard with the object and trinkets. You fall into a seat that can barely hold your weight.

She is still gaping like a fish, but Cayro watches you carefully. A flash in his eye makes you linger on his scrutiny, then focus once again on the woman who is ostensibly the leader of the ragtag outfit. Taking over from her will be too easy. That is, if you even want to do such a thing.

“Some refreshment would be much appreciated,” you repeat. There is a moment when you are not sure she will listen, then she yells for a servant who peeks his head in and scurries off with instructions.

“Resources are in short supply, here, Eero.” Her voice is clipped. The way she says your name sounds dirty. You will teach her manners before this is all said and done.

“Just something for my parched throat. As a close ally, I know you cannot deny me such a basic form of hospitality. So, if the incantation is not the problem, then what do you think it is?”

You tap your fingers on the tabletop, affecting a casual demeanor. Cayro stacks his papers neatly, his fingernails clean, hands appearing soft and callus-free. Not that yours have ever known a day’s labor, either.

Cayro takes your measure with obsidian eyes. “We wonder if it is simply the nature of the spirits who are waiting when the portal opens. If we can dispatch them and access others, perhaps those not so eager to leave, we may find more success. It may require retrieving a soul from the Eternal Flame.”

Nikora slams her hand down to shut Cayro up. He snaps his mouth shut, but does not appear chastened. Nikora seethes.

“Is taking a soul from the Eternal Flame even possible?” you ask after a beat.

She looks annoyed but nods. “It is theorized, though we have as yet not attempted it. The theory is that the spirits gathered on the outer edges of the World After are the ones who seek revenge. Their souls have yet to be cleansed by the purification of the Eternal Flame, and they effect their petty grievances on us. But older spirits, ones that have known peace and are readying themselves for rebirth, those will be able to pass on the wisdom we seek. It is just a matter of having enough expendable bodies near the portal that the vengeance-seeking wraiths can glut themselves. Then we defeat those and allow time for the spell to draw out the souls from the Flame.”

The servant returns with a steaming beverage. It is burning hotand you don’t even taste it as it scalds your tongue and throat. Her plan is inane; much better to control the spirits who come out than try to drag one from a power as great as the Flame’s.

As the servant leaves, you trip him and the platter clatters to the ground. This distraction is all you need to reach to the sideboard behind you and grab one of the small medallions lying there without disturbing anything else. In a matter of seconds, the servant has righted himself. You pocket the coin in your trousers.

Nikora and Cayro stare angrily at the silent, bald man. Neither has seen what you’ve done.

Back in your room, you palm the medallion and close your eyes. Immediately, you can tell it is weak. Perhaps that is why it was left out unguarded. You have controlled an amalgam before, using Ydaris’s medallion back when she first arrived. You dislike the taste the combined magics leave in your mouth, but now any magic is priceless.

However, there is not enough here for you to effect an escape. Not enough to knock out guards, destroy this infernal castle, fly or travel through space the way you know Physicks can do. The way they spirited you away from your prison cell all those weeks ago. What a waste of resources they’d expended. You cannot even cancel the spell that prevents you from using blood magic they haven’t approved.

For that, you will have to kill Nikora. Once she’s dead, her spell will fade and you will have access to the resources you need. Then you can reclaim what is rightfully yours. What you struggled and sweat and bled for for hundreds of years.

Still, the medallion is not totally worthless.

It can still help you to reclaim your land and your people from your sister who has no right to them. For it can help you contact her.

Using the power of the medallion might not allow you to travel,but you can send your voice and image. There is power enough for that.

You focus on the intention and picture your twin. Where is she now? When she would visit, she would often smell of honeyberry flowers and freshly cut grass. Perhaps she is even now out walking the grounds of the palace. Luxurious grounds in a temperate climate unlike this frozen wasteland where you currently reside.

In all your years of conquest, you never made it to Rosira, never saw the city of your birth. You never left Lagrimar until the day the Mantle came down, but today is a new day. You successfully destroyed the Mantle and will be truly free soon enough.

For a moment nothing happens, and then her face winks into existence above you, floating in the air. You catch glimpses of her surroundings, she is not outside, but in a modestly decorated room—at least by your standards. If she is surprised to see you she masks it well.

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