Page 97 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘I don’t intend to.’
‘The pact is soon complete.’ Miriam stepped closer to her; Rosamund stood her ground. ‘You can feel it, can’t you? The way your soul sings for me. It will leave you soon.’
Rosamund said, with grim resignation, ‘I know.’
Lightning flashed again. The thunder, this time, was so loud it took hold of the crow’s nest and shook it like a petulant child.
Miriam smiled. ‘This reminds me of the fete. Do you remember?’
‘Yes. Why did you always call for storms, even though they weaken the darkness?’
‘I told you the first time we met: storms suit you, my dear. You are always most beautiful with a little fear in your face.’
Rosamund’s lip curled in fury, gold eyes sparking like embers. Her fingers twitched, and theMonumentalsuddenly pitched upwards at an acute angle. It hit a wave prow first, a wall of water slamming down on the deck like a hammer hitting a nail.
Miriam felt a moment of unease. ‘Temper, darling.’
‘You’ve underestimated me,’ Rosamund said, and there was triumph in her voice now: a promise Miriam could not decipher.
‘Maybe so.’
‘My entire life, I’ve been alone.’ She breached the space between them, and then—to Miriam’s shock—she wound her arms around her neck. The look Rosamund gave her then was as fond as it was furious, as loving as it was hateful. It was Cybil in the orchard, Esther beneath her on the bed, it was every storm they’d ever stood in and every kiss they’d ever shared. ‘Untilyoucame. You’re the only one who’s ever understood me, I think.’
Miriam pressed a hand to Rosamund’s neck, feeling the heartbeat she had ended and begun; wondering what it would be to hear silence instead. ‘And you me.’
‘I’m grateful that I met you,’ Rosamund said. ‘My blessing, my curse. I love you, Miriam. I always will.’
‘Me, too,’ Miriam echoed, confused, unable to resist as Rosamund pulled her in for a kiss. It was sweet, soft, the sort of kiss that promised something they’d never had: something without transaction, without deadline. And when Rosamund pulled away, her expression was entirely without hostility, mouth curved slightly, eyes half lidded.
‘I love you,’ Rosamund said. ‘That’s why this must end.’
Then she lunged sideways and threw herself out of the crow’s nest.
Miriam screamed. Miriam had never screamed before: the sound was unlike anything she had ever heard, like someone was ripping the air apart, a vacuum of noise simultaneously silent and cacophonous. And then, as the scream itself died—replaced by another crack of thunder—she saw a bird fly down towards the promenade.
Miriam, enraged, leapt after her.
A hawk sliced through the air, golden-eyed, glowing with light. A crow followed it. Above them, the clouds swirled with the wind, lightning arcing toward the ship. The wind was roaring, buffeting them with such force that it took all of Miriam’s concentration just to stay airborne; it felt as if the shadows that formed her feathers would be torn away from her. All she could focus on was the brightness in front of her, the meteoric glow of Rosamund as she carved a path across the storm-grey sky.
She didn’t know how Rosamund was maintaining this form. The power it would take was immense; the amount of soul she was feeding the darkness beyond anything she’d ever attempted before. The pain must have been unimaginable, but Rosamund didn’t seem much affected, her flight as elegant as if she had been born to the air, dancing between gusts of wind and furious fistfuls of rain. She swooped around the mast in a tight circle, and Miriam trailed behind her. Rosamund plummeted down toward the deck—for a moment, Miriam wondered if she had remembered shewasn’ta bird, after all—but then she went insubstantial, falling through the iron grating. When Miriam did the same, she found herself following Rosamund’s flitting form through the coal-hot hollow of the ship’s underbelly. Men shovelled fuel into furnaces, slick with sweat: they didn’t notice the shadows and sparks that darted between them, as Miriam snappedat Rosamund with talon and beak, dodging plumes of steam and the heavy swing of metal mallets. The sound of the workers was extraordinary—yelling and hammering and the roar of flames—but Miriam could still hear, between it all, the fluttering of Rosamund’s wings.
They passed from one side of the ship to the other, through steel beams and solid walls, until they were once again up in the open air, in the rolls of thunder and the stark white flashes of the lightning. Rosamund went faster, higher, and Miriam did the same, until the wind was almost too strong to counter, and theMonumentalwas only a speck beneath them, surrounded by the cracked-glass edges of storm-swollen waves.
Then Rosamund plunged down again, passing Miriam by mere inches. And as Miriam followed, glorying in the chase, she realised she never wanted this to end. If she caught Rosamund, maybe she would kill her. Why not? Why not keep the deal indefinitely, see how often Harding could be reborn? That way, Miriam would never lose her. They could stay like this forever: Harding and Richter, shadows and storm, pulling each other towards their own destruction.
They fell together, wings tucked into their bodies. The wind wailed, partly frozen rain tearing through feathers and talons. The light around Rosamund shifted and warped, until she had changed into a woman again, her hair rippling around her head like a crown of flames, her skin luminous. Miriam did the same, swallowing her own beak, folding her wings into her torso, growing arms so that she could reach out a hand for her. Rosamund took it, pulling her closer as they plunged.
Miriam looked down, and saw they were heading toward the water.
‘Shadows don’t sink,’ she said into Rosamund’s ear.
‘No, they don’t,’ Rosamund agreed. ‘But maybe they can drown.’
They hit the Atlantic, breaking the surface with enough force it would have shattered the bones of anyone else—but they werejustimmaterial enough that they sank without true impact. Rosamund’s hand slipped out of hers, and the sea sucked her downwards, leaving Miriam floating unmoored in the half-frozen water.
The darkness here was entire, so deep and impenetrable that even Miriam could see nothing. Salt stung her eyes and clawed at her skin,the shadows inside her writhing in revulsion. Miriam revelled in the pain, rare as it was to her. How far had they sunk? When she looked up, she could see a faint glimmer of grey—the fading light of the sky—but to her sides and below, there was only a void.
She reached out with her mind.Rosamund?
