Page 135 of The Lost Reliquary
“This isn’t exactly how I saw this going.” The Whisperer limps over to Tempestra-Innara. “But what would endless life be without a surprise now and then?” They sigh. “Not endless for you, though. Not anymore.”
Tempestra-Innara tries to speak, but only a faint creak passes over charred lips. Their unburned hand lifts as if to point, to call the flame, then falls.
Osiron shakes his head. “This is the end, Tempestra. And even now, I’m a little sad for it. If only you and the others hadn’t been so… childish. But rest assured that valuable lessons have been learned. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
“No…” Slowly, agonizingly, the Goddess takes a deep breath. Their head tilts up, teeth baring. “You… will make… all new ones.”
Forgotten along with the rest of the dead, I chuckle quietly. Defiant until the end. Maybe I take after my blood mother more than I thought.
The insolence doesn’t sit well with Osiron, who frowns. “Someday, far sooner than you think, Tempestra, you will be nothing but a memory. Your power is spent, save that of your death and whatever stain it leaves on this world. It bleeds out of you even now.” The Whisperer leans in closer. “I feel it, spreading across the very fabric of existence, and so dothey, just beyond the veil that separates here from there. Theones like us, who we used to be. They come closer and closer, drawn by the scraps of you, scavengers to an old corpse.” Then, Osiron straightens, flush with purpose. “I have had so much time to think, to wonder. What the others left in the wake of their deaths, those unfading, obscene scars… are they inevitable? Or could that expression of power be, hmm, countered, I suppose one might say? Consumed? When those beyond sense the fall of one of their own, do they come out of curiosity… or desire?” He smiles. “Why don’t we find out?”
Wait… what?
“Fitting, don’t you think, to have a new god born from the fade of another? But we need a vessel.” Avery takes a hopeful step forward, eyes brightening, but Osiron shakes their head. “Not you. Not yet. It’s been eons since I last called a divinity into flesh, and I won’t risk wasting you if, say, I’m a bit out of practice.”
I flinch as Osiron’s eyes find me. But there is no intention in them, only pity. It’s not as surprising as it could be. After all, I bargained with the Whisperer for freedom. They are simply giving it to me. “I am sorry, Lys. You wouldn’t survive,” they say, as if reading my thoughts. “A newly born deity can be quite… rough.” Instead, they reach for Nolan and lift his unconscious form like he’s nothing more than a doll.
No.
“You chose well with this one, little sister.”
No.
“Find solace in the fact that he will continue to serve the divine, long after you are gone.”
Fucking NO.
“Rion, please, don’t—” I move too sharply, nearly losing to the gray again. “He wouldn’t…”
I can’t get the rest of the words out.He wouldn’t want this.Nolan might have aspired to be Tempestra’s avatar, but some random newborn god—?
It doesn’t matter. Osiron ignores me completely, and it’s crystal clear that our dealings are done. I am just another piece now, sacrificed, like the rest of their fallen followers, to the game too large for our tiny selves to fully understand. Or at least I’m sure that’s how Osiron sees it. It’s why they kept the secret of the Storm Goddess’s blood, justin case something went wrong with me, which of course it did. And why they don’t give a damn about using Nolan, now, to stick it to Tempestra in their final moments. Very patient, indeed.
But still petty as hell.
Osiron carries Nolan to one of the pillars, leans him gently against it. I can only watch, as useless as an empty reliquary. But maybe… maybe this is not the worst ending. Our divinity was a gift; that’s what Nolan, Caius, and every other one of my blood brethren tried to drill into me, from the day I was chosen. And hewantedto become an avatar, was wholly willing to give over everything that he is to Tempestra’s continued existence. Maybe he would like this, even choose it if the offer were presented to him…
Except Osiron isn’t making an offer. This isn’t Nolan’s choice, any more than my divine damnation was. This is the will of a god, being forced upon him.
And I willnotlet that happen.
Resolve floods through me, a burst of strength that feeds my increasingly heavy limbs. I reach up and grab one of the daggers in Alastair’s eyes, wrench it free, and begin to crawl.
As soon as I do, it begins. A faint thrum, a change in the air.
A whispered call.
Osiron looms over Nolan’s unconscious form, lips moving silently. And yet I can feel that soundless invocation buzzing over my skin, thickening the air around me. I push through it, ignoring the protests of my failing flesh as I scrape across the stone of the apse. Death can wait a little longer; Nolan needs me now.
The Whisperer pays no attention, wrapped up entirely in their new ritual. The call continues to rise, a quiet cacophony, making the whole Cathedral vibrate with it.
A fresh shudder of pain bursts from somewhere deep beneath my ribs. I crumple, muscles mutinying, unable to go any farther. Though Nolan is only a few dozen paces away, he might as well be in Cyprene.
Fuck.Tears of frustration spill over my cheeks. What was I going to do anyway, against a god?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
But I wanted to try.
