Page 142 of The Cruel Dawn
Her loves have started walking along the shore without her, their heads pressed together like old friends.
The second raven swoops from the tree trunk and hops onto the quilt. A third raven joins it, the two birds cackling together like old women.
Why are you leaving her?
Why are they walking away from her?
Why is she running but not catching up to them?
A rock explodes in the sky, trailing a streak of fire. The meteor crashes onto the beach with an earth-shattering roar, and the land quakes beneath it. Sharp rocks scatter in all directions. The sky fills with swirling red clouds, obscuring the daystar. The sea of crystal waters turns murky, and the land of glass grows scorched and brittle from the heat pouring from the crater.
A misty breeze surrounds me. The violet light in the sky—this can’t be the same sky—grows impossibly bright. I’m falling through space again, and in the distance, fast-approaching, I see my mother.
I see Veril.
I tried with my whole heart, wise one, and I failed.
And I sink through a bank of fog that breaks apart, and with a clap of thunder, the sky brightens to maroon and gold.
What a glorious light!
A woman shrieks somewhere beneath me. The stink of human waste and sickness fills my nostrils. And then I see blood splattering on the hard-packed earth.Where am I?A coop of chickens: dead birds and diseased eggs. The rooftops of houses have been ripped away, exposing the people to the heat and icy rains. The bodies of the livestock and their owners are covered with lice. Outside of town, corpses are piled like cords of wood, and animals nibble at the lifeless limbs of the dead.
The altars to the Lady of the Verdant Realm have been toppled and smashed. The paddled colures of Supreme—and Syrus Wake as Supreme Manifest—have been broken and stomped upon. These people no longer believe in anything.
There is too much despair. Too much disease and wickedness and…
Too much ofme.
I stand in a realm of rain and sky painted in shades of gray. This is the realm of Melki, once a world of quiet strength. Its people had thrived under the rhythmic patter of the rain, finding comfort in the gloom, in the life-giving water. But beneath its surface, corruption had festered: they’d turned to sorcery, twisting the natural order to steal life from each other, in a quest for immortality. No one lived as they’d been born. No one’s body worked as it should’ve: they’d become upright minulles and worupines, warped and unnatural.
I’d pleaded with the Council for permission to intervene. “Melki is unraveling,” I’d argued. “The people can’t see the cost of what they’re doing.” But the Council had refused me, so I defied them only so that I could protect the beings of nearby realms, beings who would be vulnerable to the sorcery unleashed on Melki. I couldn’t wait for the Council to see all that I saw. How many would die beyond this already-dying realm if I’d waited? When the priests of Melki unleashed their final ritual to grant themselves immortality by destroying the realm around them, threatening to siphon the lifeblood of children—who no longer resembled children—I had no choice but to act. My Mera army, Zephar included, called down a firestorm that consumed Melki until the realm was no more. It was too late to do anything else.
I blink, and I stand in a realm of mountains.
Yoffa had been a fortress of strength. Its peaks scraped the heavens and its mortals were hardy and durable. But their strength turned to hubris. The rulers all across Yoffa believed themselves untouchable and had carved deep into the mountains to mine forbidden minerals, to feed their deadly ambitions.
I’d watched in horror as the mountains cracked and groaned, as fiery rivers poured from the earth, consuming villages and forests alike. I’d begged Yoffa’s leaders to stop, to turn away from their recklessness. They’d laughed, calling me a meddling goddess who didn’t understand the value of their discovery. And so I shattered Yoffa’s tallest peaks. The mountains bled fire one last time before falling silent forever.
I blink, and I’m returned to Ithlon, my home of endless green land and clear blue seas. The mortals there had lived in harmony with the land, tending to its verdant forests and sprawling meadows. But Ithlon’s beauty had drawn envious eyes. Dindt raiders and Yeadens from other realms invaded regularly, tearing apart its harmony with war and conquest. Desperate to protect their home, Ithlonians had turned to an artifact discovered by the Dindt in a far-off realm—a Mera relic of destruction meant only for the gods’ use.
I saw what was coming. The artifact’s power would ripple outward, destroying not just Ithlon but every nearby realm. I pleaded with the senators of Ithlon to give up the relic, to trust me to find another way. But they were desperate, and their fear outweighed their faith. That artifact awakened, and its power spiraled out of control, out toward other realms…
I had no choice.
Diminished. Destroyer of Realms. Condemned for my actions. Stripped of my powers. Imprisoned on Vallendor. I was called impulsive, reckless, and deemed unworthy of the trust placed in me. And yet I knew I’d done what was necessary.
I explode past the fog and slam into something unyielding.
I’m no longer moving.
Rain pelts my face, and I wince as each drop rips at my skin. I stare at the sky, and the sky looks bruised. Yellows and purples and grays, and all of it glows bright… I want to close my eyes against the light.
A brightly colored bird hovers above me. She circles in that bruised sky with grace and drifts down to me until she’s just out of reach.
Is it over? Is Vallendor gone?
Will this daxinea find her clan here in Anathema?
