pain

  my arm

  biting wind, arrows soaring

  fingers snap like twigs

  Frost arched her back off the ground and writhed in pain, screaming incoherently.

  Puppeted by the roots of the tree, her broken arm rose up into the air, limp and useless, before turning its wrist and coiling its fingers with an unnatural elegance.

  Two columns of swirling, ice-cold wind erupted on either side of Frost, flanked by a fleet of magical arrows. They were all aimed at me. The columns of wind spun hard and fast, gathering a tempest—the arrows came soaring towards me faster than a hail of bullets.

  Breaking her arm had not been enough. I’m sorry, little bird. I’ll have to take your fingers too.

  It was good that I had never used my sword hand for schemas in front of her, so I could leave that hand intact.

  Helian strode through the hail of arrows, untouched, like a knife cutting through paper. With one clean sweep of her hand, she sliced through columns of wind. The twin cyclones disappeared into nothing.

  She continued her approach. Once she reached Frost, she took her arm and calmly pinned it down.

  Oh, poor girl. I flinched as I heard her fingers crack one by one. The saintess’s penchant for violence still took me by surprise.

  Regardless, my wayward daughter needed to be set straight one way or another, and neither I nor the archmage were up to the task. I would need to enlist the best healers in the kingdom once we returned home.

  The tree’s vines wrapped tighter around Frost’s body, and she began to cough up blood as she strained helplessly against the firm press of Helian’s boot.

  Helian tipped her chin up to look at the tree. Then, she began to speak.

  Old words rose unbidden from my throat as I stared up at the rotten tree.

  “A star shines high in the heavens, burning red.”

  “In her left hand, thunder, in her right hand, scepter gleaming blue.”

  The roots that were coiled round Frost grew slack, and as flames erupted all around my feet, the tree’s grasping limbs finally began to retreat.

  “A star shines high in the heavens, burning red.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  the words

  “In her left hand, thunder”

  the scepter gleaming blue like her eyes on the day we went to the zoo

  “From her steps erupt magma, in her wake, forests radiant green.”

  vines blaze like candles. from Helian’s birthday cake we shared in her apartment

  her face, serene, shining brightly

  words rise unbidden from my throat

  “From her eyes flow tears.”

  Frost’s eyes began to clear at last, and she spoke in reply.

  “From her eyes flow tears as oceans, from her mouth proceed rivers of sand.”

  The rotten tree withered from its base. Its branches like claws, leaves like fingernails, reached out towards me. I continued.

  “Two stars shine high in the heavens, burning red and blue.”

  Frost’s voice grew stronger and joined mine in harmony. “Her breath like winter’s chill. Her heartbeat, pounding drums.”

  I knelt and caressed her face. She smiled, and we spoke in unison.

  The saintess’s words burned in my ears and all the nerves in my body screamed at once. I leaned on my cane and struggled to stay upright. The earth trembled in accord, as if it, too, could hear.

  The two saintesses, one true and the other false, figures wrapped around each other in an embrace, spoke in foreign tongue. These words were not meant for me. This truth was not meant for us, and I cast it from my mind, lest it destroy me.

  A pillar of light erupted around them, shining bright and piercing the barrier overhead, the midday sun a pale imitation of its radiance. Shadows fled in terror, and the tree, rapidly withering, flailed and writhed.

  The pillar split in two, and bent, resembling a forked spear. The tree was also sundered, ash pouring from the ever-widening gash in its trunk like blood, as the twin shafts of light forced their way through its center.

  The pinnacle of magic I had sought through blood, sweat, and tears for many decades now appeared before me, and in its presence, my weary bones creaked in terror. Calamity.

  When I was still young, the departed Lady Solana would sit me on her lap, reading stories from a worn leather tome. Mother’s most treasured possession, a gift from Grandmother, which had been passed down from generation to generation. As she held me close, she spoke of the old era. Forgotten cities, bold knights, and wise saintesses. Ancient myths. Creation and calamity.

  Calamity once more dwelled upon the earth before my eyes.

  Twin calamities, born of low blood, risen from the soil. Blinding radiance like the sun pierced the air, rending the tree. The tree would never bear its wretched fruit again. The rotten trunk turned to kindling, and its funeral pyre sent a pillar of smoke pluming high into the heavens. Ancient myth made manifest. Decades from now, parents would tell their children of this day in hushed tones.

  Pale red light refracted in my daughter’s eyes. They were no longer clouded. She smiled. Helian knelt upon the blood-stained soil and held her tight.

  “I’m back.” Frost’s voice was hoarse.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “No.”

  “Were you at least worried?”

  “No.”

  Frost looked upset by this. “Why not?”

  “Because I knew you’d come back.”

  She grimaced. “My arm hurts, Lady Saintess. Can you heal me?”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “... when we get home, I’m filing a formal complaint with the temple.”