Page 62 of Sightwitch
“She is dying,” croaked Sister Rose.
“The Goddess is dying,” said Ute. And Trina and Margrette and all the rest. “The Goddess is dying, the Goddess is dying.”
Then loudest came Hilga’s stern tone. It cut straight to my heart, and tears scorched in my eyes.
“Join us,” Hilga said. “Join us in sleep, Ryber. Sirmaya needs us. We must give her our power so she can heal.”
“But I have no power.” The words cracked over my lips, and with a grunt to rattle even the Sleeper herself, I thrust myself up.
The Sisters’ eyes were open now, mouths moving. “She is dying, Ryber. The Goddess is dying.”
Only one Sister did not speak. The one I wanted most to hear from.
“Come,” Hilga declared, her silver eyes locked on me. “You do not need the gift of Sight to help our Goddess. You have your own unique strength, and she needs that just as much as she needs our magic. So come, Ryber. Sleep and help heal Sirmaya.”
“Yes,” I said, voice firmer this time. I pushed through the pain that echoed in my skull, and I stood.
One crude step became two. Then six.
I reached Hilga, who smiled down at me. “You came just in time,” she said. “There is space beside me.”
It was true: between Tanzi and Hilga was a gap in the ice exactly my size. My Goddess had been waiting for me all along.
A matching smile split my face. I had made it. I had reached Sirmaya, I had reached the Sisters, and now we would sleep and help our Goddess heal.
That was what all the storms and earthquakes had meant. That was what all the black lines in the ice were.
When the sky splits and the mountain quakes,
Make time for good-byes,
For the Sleeper soon breaks.
Sirmaya was breaking—she was cleaving, and when she did, the world as we knew it would vanish. Of course I would give her what little power I had to keep that from happening.
Yet as I reached the hole meant for me, I glanced one last time at Tanzi.
And I stopped. Her eyes were open, huge and determined. She was not smiling. Her mouth worked and moved against an ice muffle.
Then the frost that silenced her crackled off. “No,” she rasped. Then harder. “No,Ry. Don’t do it.”
“Tanz.” I heaved toward her. My boots scratched over something; I didn’t look down. I just pressed my hands against the ice.
Against my Threadsister. She was so close, yet out of reach.
“Listen to me, Ry.” Each word Tanzi said seemed to take great focus, great strength. “You can still … live. You don’t have … to be here.”
“But I want to.”
“Freedom, Ry. It takes … all … my force of will to reverse this ice long enough to speak to you. I wish I had never stepped inside the mountain, but you … You don’t have to. Walk away, Ry. Save Sirmaya from beyond—” She broke off as a shard of ice scraped downward.
It clamped over her left eyelid, forcing it shut.
“No, no, no.” I grabbed at the ice. Tried to heave it back up.
“Leave it,” Tanzi said, voice strained. “Listen to your Lazy Bug.”
I ignored her. Any exultation I had felt before was lost now. Replaced by the need to free Tanzi.
