Page 159 of The Cradle of Ice
“But, Nyx…” Jace’s voice fell to an apologetic whisper. “The end of that dream. You died. And so did the world. By your own words, you failed.”
Nyx felt punched in the chest, bruising her heart.
Jace did not let up. “If every detail of your vision was true, then we might as well all go home and live our best lives until the end, especially if we’re destined to fail.” He waved across the room. “But we’re here, supporting you.”
She struggled to speak but managed to get out one word that contained many questions. “Why?”
Why do you have such faith in me? Why is Bashaliia in my vision? Why does this all fall on my shoulders—to end the world in order to save it?
Jace answered them all. “Nyx, you were born with an innate gift for bridle-song, but for the first six months of your life, you were raised in the fold of the Mýr colony. Back then, your mind was soft clay, still pliable, far from fully formed. Your brain grew while under a constant barrage of the bats’ silent cries. Under such persistent exposure, your mind and gift may have been forever altered by their keening, as a tree is gnarled by winds. It changed you.”
Nyx remembered Frell making a similar claim. She also pictured the glowing tendrils of the Oshkapeers manipulating and altering Daal’s gift.
Jace continued, plainly having pondered all of this, maybe with Frell’s and Krysh’s help. “Years later, it was that lingering change that made you susceptible to the warning of the Mýr bats. As nocturnal sentinels from an ancient age, they must have sensed the changes in the moon. They were possibly engineered for that very purpose. Once alerted, they sought out the only one who could understand them, who could carry their warning to the world.”
“Me…”
Jace nodded and waved to Shiya. “And possibly those like her. Sleepers who needed to be woken by their keening. Those ageless beings who could stop moonfall if it ever threatened.”
“Unfortunately,” Krysh added, “while they are ageless, the ravages of time still destroyed many of the Sleepers and damaged others.”
Nyx glanced to Shiya. She pictured that spider hidden behind the shadowy wings of the raash’ke. There was clearly more to the story of these bronze figures, but it would have to wait.
Especially as Jace wasn’t done.
“I think the vision that the bats instilled in you—it was a general warning, a cry for help. They likely cobbled their own memories, along with your fears, and maybe some elements that were a mix of prophecy or simply extrapolations of what might happen next. The great mind of the Mýr bats had lived for countless millennia at the fringes of man, watching kingdoms rise and fall. It would not be hard for them to calculate what a future might look like if moonfall should threaten.”
Jace ticked them off on his fingers. “A great war due to the ensuing panic. Dark forces trying to stop you. How the struggle could cost you greatly in mind and body. A promise from the Mýr bats, in the form of those shadowy wings on the altar, to be your staunch ally during the strife to come. And ultimately at the end, a warning about what would happen if we all fail.”
Nyx’s eyes had grown wider with each statement. She sensed the truth behind this interpretation of her dream. Still …
“I accept what you’re saying, Jace. I do. But despite all you’ve argued, I know Bashaliia is supposed to be at my side. That he’s important to all of this. The Dreamers—like the great mind of the Mýr bats—have hinted as much, instilling an inescapable drive in me to rescue Bashaliia. Trust me on this.”
Nyx kept her expression imperative, tamping down her doubts, knowing what she just said might not be entirely true. But one detail was:
“I must go,” she said. “Daal is already on his way to the western edge of this sea, waiting for me.”
She pictured him aboard his skiff, tethered to his two orksos, Neffa and Mattis. This morning, after overhearing Ularia speaking to a guard about watching them closely, the pair had decided that Daal should stay behind. He wasn’t allowed aboard the Reef Farer’s barge anyway, so no one would miss his lone skiff if it didn’t return with the other boats. Once everyone had left Kefta, Daal had headed out in the opposite direction.
“Daal’s probably already at the wall of ice that closes off the western side of the sea,” Nyx said.
“The Pantheans call those cliffs the Fangs,” Krysh noted, pointing to the map of the Ameryl Sea. “It’s a great icefall, pocked and riddled with caves and tunnels. According to a brief talk I had with Meryk, there is no way through there to reach the Mouth of the World.”
Nyx knew that wasn’t true. Still, she winced, but for another reason. She turned to the alchymist. “You didn’t tell Daal’s father or mother what we’re planning?”
“Of course not. I couched my inquiry as an interest in cartography, nothing more.”
Nyx relaxed.
Due to the prohibition against disturbing the Dreamers, they had kept Meryk and Floraan in the dark. Nyx had told them that Daal had remained behind at Kefta to do some fishing before returning. Guilt had panged her at this lie, especially with the way Nyx now felt about his mother and father. After she had shared Daal’s memories, her heart ached with the love he had for them.
While much of that commingling of their lives had faded, her edges still blurred with his. Her memories of him were more than just if Daal had sat down and told her his life’s story, but less than if she had lived all his days in his skin.
She could still remember what that intimacy had felt like. As that connection now waned, its absence only made her crave it more. She felt far emptier as Daal’s memories dissipated. She longed to return to Daal’s side, as if only his presence could fill that growing void in her.
And it wasn’t just the hole created by the loss of his memories.
There was a hungrier abyss, too.
