74. One Big, Happy Family (Vaye)¶
Vaye awoke in a white shroud. She waited, holding her breath, her body numb. Did she still have a body? If not, where was she? What was she?
She’d expected death to be more interesting.
She blinked. Cold droplets fell on her lips as she exhaled. If she had breath to hold, didn’t that mean she was alive? She moved her fingers experimentally, then the rest of her limbs. Her joints ached like they were packed with hot ashes.
Vaye sat up, dislodging a layer of fresh snow. The blizzard had buried the lake knee-deep in fluffy powder, and the landscape had a soft, delectable beauty, like an enormous pastry. A wave of lightheadedness hit her as she stood, her legs tingling. She had an odd sense of buoyancy, as though she’d just taken off a heavy pack. She could almost hear each individual drop of meltwater hissing into the snowbanks, her senses sharpened to glittering points. The fresh powder shone under a clear sky of deep blue, fading to a pale gray on the horizon.
A horizon crawling with Grandchildren.
She stifled a scream. The creatures blanketing the rocks stood unnaturally still, as though waiting for something. Slowly, she turned, taking in their vast numbers. Their eerie, baby-like faces grinned from all directions. There was nowhere to run.
Her eye caught on a bit of fur sticking out of the snow. She took a cautious step, watching the Grandchildren, but they remained motionless on the ridge. The snow creaked as she made her way through the drifts. The crater was eerily silent, the Grandchildren as frozen as the ice itself.
It wasn’t until she brushed aside the snow and stared down at Adranaya’s face that she realized what she’d done. The Sarmalan’s lips were pale, her iridescent skin dull and mottled, her unseeing eyes half-open to the cobalt sky.
Vaye sank to her knees as the world plummeted away. “No,” she said softly. Her sense of lightness remained, now alien and perverse. She put her hand beneath Adranaya’s head and tried to lift it, but the corpse was already stiff.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t fair.
Grandmother had been lying. She had blocked the flow, using Adranaya as an unwilling conduit. The last image Vaye had seen had been Adranaya on her knees, begging and arguing, struggling against a literal inner demon. The false deity had tried to drive a wedge into the Gyre, to convince Adranaya to choose revenge. But Grandmother had failed. Adranaya’s love had proven stronger than her anger, stronger than everything that had tried to break her. Stronger, even, than a being that had seemed like a goddess.
Teira’s warning hadn’t been about Adranaya at all. It had been about Grandmother. A pent-up scream bounced around Vaye’s chest as she staggered to her feet, desperate to get away from the truth.
She found Gadarien slumped against a rock at the edge of the lake. He sat shivering, his furs wrapped haphazardly around him, his lips blue and eyes unfocused. “Gada,” she said, dropping to her knees. He was awake, but gave no sign of recognition. She waved a hand in front of his face, snapped her fingers, even slapped him, but got no response. A sluggish fly landed on his lip and almost crawled into his mouth before she waved it off.
The storm had left behind a deep, bitter stillness. Soon they would both freeze, if the Grandchildren didn’t kill them first. Gingerly, Vaye felt for the thorn at the crown of Gadarien’s head. Perhaps if she took it out, the shock would release him from his stupor. She concentrated, willing the glassroots to untangle themselves from his nerves. As she gingerly extracted the thorn, a bulk vanished from her own mind, a vacuum appearing where there had been a presence. A single, unexpected sob burst out of her mouth.
Gadarien gasped and sat forward, the tendons in his neck straining. “Gada!” she cried. At his look of recognition, she threw her arms around him and squeezed, blubbering into his shoulder, only letting go when he feebly began to cough.
“Did we win?” he said, his voice like rusty wires scraping a brick wall. She nodded, unwilling to say the words aloud. Saying it would make it real. “Where’s Adra?” he asked. She didn’t respond, but he read the truth in her eyes. “No,” he whispered, blood draining from his face.
Vaye’s grief sat in her lungs like a pile of wet ash, choking her every breath. But even that was pierced by the clicking of claws on the rocks above their heads. She stood up slowly, still holding the thorn she’d removed from Gadarien’s scalp. Dozens of Grandchildren were creeping cautiously down the slope, needle-teeth bared and eyes glittering. They covered the embankment like flies on a carcass, smiling with childish glee.
A fog of exhausted apathy rolled over her. It was hopeless. She knew she should feel terror, but instead she felt as hollow as a broken drum. She could draw her tzashim and put up a fight, but what was the point? Adranaya had been the best of them. She had loved and been loved, and that love had been rewarded with death. Maybe it was better that it all just ended here.
She looked down at Gadarien. Even without the Gyre, they shared a connection now, like their minds were holding hands. She smiled sadly. He nodded, understanding the situation as well as she did.
Wanting to at least be present for her own demise, Vaye pulled her awareness toward the Balance Point. To her surprise, reaching it was nearly effortless. The moment collapsed to an infinitely small point, past and future receding into nothingness. Almost laughing at the irony of finally mastering the skill just when she would never need it again, she raised her arms wide, inviting the Grandchildren to tear her apart.
Just before the nearest ghoul reached her, a single spark of defiance pierced her crust of indifference. She was Anashi. If she was going to die, this one last enemy would know her wrath. The Balance Point focused her awareness as she opened her mind to the Tine and filled the empty space inside her, her grief feeding the blazing whirlwind of her rage. Her whole body flared with light, illuminating the walls of the crater. Gadarien cried out and covered his eyes.
The Grandchild tried to stop short, but slipped on the ice and fell into her arms, knocking her back into the snow. Half from instinct and half from memory, she reached around its cold body and slid the thorn into its bony spine.
Light burst out of her in a blinding sheet, turning even the shadows white. A terrible screech emerged from the Grandchildren—not just the one atop her, but all of them at once. The creature in her arms was locked in a vibrating rigor, its limbs frozen at a strange angle, jaws clamped shut. She threw it off before its shaking claws could cut her to shreds.
Vaye scooted back quickly, but the creature stayed where she’d thrown it, spasming in the snow. Gadarien lay on his side, holding his palms over his eyes and moaning in pain. Her hand shook as she wiped her nose with her sleeve, looking around in awe. Further up the slope, the rest of the Grandchildren were frozen in various postures, trembling in some kind of paralysis.
And when she arose, so did they.
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