Dragonoak: Gall and Wormwood, page 41
Having no regard for the rest of Myros, Kondo-Kana woke the moment Oak landed in Phos. She slid off his back, bare feet hitting the white ground. She offered out a hand and I let her help me down.
I'd expected my heart to ache for Kondo-Kana and Myros alike. I'd expected something stronger than mere recognition to flood her features, eyes dulling as sorrow twisted at her gut, but she only smiled. No memories a hundred years forgotten were brought to light. She trailed her fingers across the statue of a phoenix and made her way into Phos.
“Ah. Home. I am...” Kondo-Kana said, but the rest of the words were meant for Myros alone.
I followed her as she drifted through the streets, head tilted back to take in the bright towers. I stopped every time she decided to stare at a lamppost that hadn't bled light since she was last there. I felt more than I could rightly describe when I came to the Bloodless Lands, and it was stronger every time I crossed over from the world of colour. Despite that, I knew that things were different, this time.
I didn't simply walk across the Bloodless Lands. I was caught between them and Kondo-Kana, wedged between two opposing forces that had forgotten they were supposed to revile one another.
“What is this?” I asked when I remembered I was allowed to fill the silence soaking the streets. “This... white. Everything's white. How did it happen?”
In my gut, I knew. In my heart, I wanted to be wrong.
“Give and take. Give and take,” Kondo-Kana said, trailing her fingers across a doorway that could no longer be opened. “All things are void until Isjin's light pours into them. When none of it remains, when there is not even a spark, this is the way of things: white. Void. Light can be taken. It can be stolen.”
“And you... we, we can do all of this?”
“Of course. Of course. I told you, did I not? Aejin yu ka Aejin. Light from my light. It is the core of us. Surely you know this.”
I did. I realised I knew it too well. The same white emptiness had rushed from me when I was chained to Katja’s stove, when I had fallen from the mountains; when Claire had been brought back to Isin’s castle, charred and unconscious. Only now did I understand that it wasn’t something that had come from within me. The Bloodless Lands weren’t something that had seeped from Kondo-Kana.
She had taken from the world. I had taken.
It was not something: it was nothing.
Kondo-Kana span on her heels and stretched out her arms as she walked backwards.
“You do not know the old stories, do you? The true stories,” she said, eyes brightening with more than the chance to speak of the void. The muscles in my body wound tightly, because I had prompted this. Our surroundings hadn’t done a thing to reach Kondo-Kana. “When Isjin slept within the void, her dreams became light, the light of all things that ever were or would ever be. But a terrible creature filled the void, stopping the light from flowing into the world. The creature was—”
“The creature she tore in half to make the dragons and pane,” I said, nodding. Katja had told me that story. I wouldn’t forget it. “I know.”
“No, Rowan. The creature became the dragons and humans, the first of her great races. She gave them power and intelligence both, though the humans were flawed. The dragons were flawed in their own ways, but they were content in what they were. The humans, from the moment Isjin taught them to speak, could only bemoan their short lifespans. And so she took the dragons and the humans and dreamt that they were one in the same. She dreamt of the pane in this way, the most peaceful of her races, and gave them a lifespan humanity could not grasp.
“But the pane, as happy as they were with their lot in life, could still be harmed. They could still grow sick, and so died before their time. The pane did not feel entitled to anything else, and though they often grieved, they understood the way of nature. But humans, ah. Humans pushed Isjin, and she dreamt away the guilt of having created such fragile beings.
“Her next race could not be hindered by death: these were the phoenixes, reborn from their own ashes.”
She was moving again. I had to jog to keep up with her. She turned sharply into a side street and cut through the city as though she did this each and every day. She moved far from aimlessly.
“I’ve never heard that version of it,” I said, having no more reason to doubt Kondo-Kana than I did to believe in tales of Isjin in the first place.
“Of course you have not. The humans, they wish to make things about themselves, but they do not wish to be any part of the monstrosity that helped the void thrive,” Kondo-Kana explained, pausing to read the signs speared into the ground at the end of every street. “And did you know, when they looked upon the phoenixes, they grew sick with envy. Isjin, she did not blame them for this. She blamed herself, thinking them incomplete, and so allowed some to be healers, to battle all that could lead to death.
“But they could not contend with it. And though Isjin had no more dreams left to dream, it was not enough for the humans. They mocked death as fiercely as they feared it, and Isjin loved the humans so.
“She gave them the last of the light within her chest. She divided up what remained and spread it across Bosma, that it might eternally burn bright. A race that is not a race, for how few of us there ever are. Light from herself; light from my light. And that is what we are, Rowan. The last of her light, twisting itself into familiar forms. We were never a mere dream.”
I took a step backwards. She was wrong. She was wrong. I was flesh and blood; I was thrumming with power, not made of it.
I couldn’t say that out loud. Couldn’t argue to Kondo-Kana’s face, because she didn’t realise what was happening. She didn’t see the emptiness that Myros had become.
To her, there was no void.
Hundreds of years ago, she’d stolen the light from the land and drawn it into herself. She’d fed on it. It thrummed through her, ever trapped in her eyes. Through it, she saw the colour that had once filled the cities, the open fields and the rolling hills. The light resolved itself as a wave of noise and a burst of warmth, flourishing under the pale Myrosi sun.
She spoke to me as though I was from one of the temples, eager to learn more about Isjin.
“Kondo-Kana,” I said. “We should head back. We’ve been here for long enough.”
It wouldn’t take long for Myros to realise what Kondo-Kana was, in the same way Haru-Taiki had.
“Kondo-Kana,” I called when she kept on walking.
Her fingers trailed out behind her and said, “No, no, I must…”
I couldn’t leave her alone in Myros. I couldn’t risk anything more happening to a land that was beyond shadow and light. I moved softly behind her but kept my distance, not wanting to disturb the void. Not wanting to let it crumble into the nothingness beyond what it had become.
“I hear there is an army, headed for Mesomia,” Kondo-Kana said, stopping in the centre of the road. She waited until I was stood behind her to catch my eye. “Hundreds. Thousands of them. Do not let them near. Do not let them take your home.”
She grasped my shoulder and leant in close.
“Do not let them take you, Aejin. Fell them. Stand against them and kill them all. They will understand what you are made of.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to free myself.
I’d been a fool. I’d thought that at worst, Kondo-Kana would mourn for what she’d done, but she was left with only regret, while guilt was mine to process. Some naïve part of me had hoped that returning would spark something within Kondo-Kana; that she would understand the depth of what she’d done and realise she had the power to make things right.
But stood in front of me was the Kondo-Kana of legend. The person who destroyed my ancestors’ world.
She was more flame than woman.
More agony than remorse.
CHAPTER XXII
“I won’t kill them,” I heard myself say.
Kondo-Kana roared with light, mute and deafening. It wasn’t the mere glow that often claimed me. It had become her, and through the haze of fear, my heart sunk at how familiar it was.
Forgetting talk of war, she carried on through the streets. I expected to reach the Phoenix Fire or one of the greater temples in the city, but after a dozen twists and turns through streets she could never forget, Kondo-Kana stopped outside of a house, wedged in the centre of a row of identical buildings.
“This—this is my home,” she told herself. The light that thought it was her fingers wrapped around the handle, but the Bloodless Lands were not what they seemed. They were a continual spate of emptiness, and the handle could not turn, could not remember what purpose it had once served. “I live here. Lived here? With my mother, my grandmother…”
“Kondo-Kana,” I said softly. “We really should go. Oak’s waiting for us.”
It was too late for that. She pressed her palm to the door and colour bled back into it as she released what was inside of her.
“And my brothers? No, no. I never had those. It was only me, I… I…”
Plastering her hands against her forehead, Kondo-Kana turned from the house and swayed so heavily that I had to dart forward to catch her. She clung to my collar with both hands, face featureless for the light that burnt within.
“Please. Let’s go, okay? I’ll keep you safe,” I promised.
All of the comfort and understanding I felt around her mixed with an oily fear.
“No, Rowan. Look. Look around you,” she said in a voice too clear to be hers. There was no depth to it, no twisting chasm echoing age and watery wisdom. “You’re the only one who can. The only one who can look upon the Bloodless Lands and not suffer for it.”
“You can as well,” I assured her. “Any of us can. Any necromancer. There’s another one. Her name is Halla, remember? I know you’d like to meet her. If you come with me…”
“No. No, no, no—”
She pushed me away and slipped easily from my grasp.
“We are light, Rowan. We are not death. It does not fester within us. We are so much more than the world has ever understood,” she said, tearing her cloak free from her shoulders. “I see it. I see it all: everything I have done. The void is howling for my blood, but I will not turn it over, will not run dry…”
Kondo-Kana fell to her knees, trembling as the ground ought to have.
She drew in a breath and the light that consumed her vanished. In that moment, I understood how dark it had become. Even her eyes lost their glow. There was something eerily human about her, now that she’d locked all of her power within her chest.
“You did this,” I murmured. I didn’t know why I said it, but I finally understood that she was the person from those stories. She wasn’t a mere reminder of the past.
Clawing at the empty dirt, she said, “I do not have room to remember this all, and yet… You do not understand how it was, Aejin. You do not understand who I was. We were Priests, we were Children of Isjin, but we were not free. We were bound by what we were, owned by the rich and not allowed to cleanse disease as we saw fit. They called it the Will of Isjin and said that there was a price to pay for miracles. But we were not theirs to use. They would not allow us to die, but even if they did, what would there be for us?
“Silence. Just the silence. I hear it, Rowan. I hear it when I am awake and when I am asleep. It pounds, pounds like drums. But not the drums of war. There is no fight to be had, no chance I can win this.”
Moving back onto her knees, fingers knotted in her hair, Kondo-Kana took in the breadth of what she’d done and sobbed.
“Fix it,” she said, burning eyes fixed on me. “Fix it, fix it—”
“I can’t,” I croaked. My ribcage pressed in on itself, tightening around my lungs. “I don’t know how.”
Wailing, Kondo-Kana struck the ground with her fists.
“Fix it,” she demanded, teeth grit. “I cannot give this back. It cannot be carved out of me. I—after all I have done, I still cannot…”
Kondo-Kana rocked forward on her knees, forehead pressed to the ground. She wrapped her arms around her waist, causing the back of her shirt to slip away as she frantically tore at the fabric. A tattoo scarred her back, cast in white. It was a design I’d never seen the likes of before, but to touch it would be to understand it.
Kneeling next to her, I pressed my palm to the interlocking patterns that spiralled from the centre, arches rising and falling, crossing twisting vines and falling feathers. In spite of all that roiled and roared within Kondo-Kana, she understood why my hand was splayed across her back.
“A brand… It is a…” she started, but it was already lost to her. She beat her fists bloody against the ground, gashes barely bothering to heal over. “Take it back, take it back, I don’t want it, I…”
I threw myself against her back. I didn’t know what else to do. I threw myself against her back, pinned her arms from her side, and pulled her hands away from the thick red smears across the void.
She tried to throw herself free but I buried my face in her neck and refused to release her. She twisted her shoulders sharply but it was no good. I wasn’t letting go, and the last of her strength faded. The light reclaimed her, and I finally loosened my grasp on her. She lifted her hands, but not to strike the ground. She pressed her hands to the stains and her palms slid against the bloodied void. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
“Let’s go back,” I mumbled into her hair.
I gathered her into my arms and she continued to cry. She’d stopped trembling, but it couldn’t be a good thing.
I placed my hands on her shoulders and eased her back. The light that ever twisted and rose from her eyes spread across her skin once more, engulfing her. Once again, I found myself kneeling in the Bloodless Lands and holding a necromancer as they turned to light in my arms and threatened to slip through my fingers.
“Not again,” I mumbled, making a promise of it to myself and Kondo-Kana. “Not again…”
I dragged Kondo-Kana through Phos and onto Oak’s back. He flew faster than I’d ever know him to, so fast I could barely cling to his scales as the wind threatened to make ribbons of my face. There was no hiding Kondo-Kana, but I couldn’t leave her outside the castle. I couldn’t waste a single second.
Her feet didn’t want to work, so I dragged her through the corridors. With my back and arms aching, I left her on the floor of my chamber. I didn’t have time to wonder where Claire was as I sprinted down the corridors. I’d drawn more than enough attention in bringing her into the castle; ignoring all of the looks I’d garnered as my boots struck the floor hard didn’t mean that people ignored me in kind.
I ran until I found Varn stationed outside of Queen Nasrin’s chambers and burst through the doors before she had the chance to react.
“Queen Nasrin!” I called, stumbling through the door.
She was sat at her desk, brushing her hair while Atalanta read in the corner. Atalanta was quietly bemused and didn’t consider drawing her weapon.
“It’s Kondo-Kana,” I blurted out. I didn’t need to explain myself; Queen Nasrin knew where she’d been. “Something happened.”
She didn’t need to hear anything more. She swept out of the room with her hairbrush in hand and Varn and Atalanta fell into step behind her. Varn looked me up and down and I realised I must’ve been quite the sight: I was dishevelled by the wind, face and arms smeared with blood. Tears I didn’t remember crying were dried in streaks across my cheeks.
I broke into a sprint, overtaking the others.
The guards who’d tensed when I brought Kondo-Kana up fumbled over themselves to salute Queen Nasrin. She paid them exactly no attention. I reached for the handle with unsteady hands and managed to shoulder the door open.
Queen Nasrin placed a hand on my shoulder, moved me to the side, and stormed into the room to find Kondo-Kana curled in a ball on the floor, seeping light from every pore.
Without blinking, Queen Nasrin said, “What happened in Old Myros, Rowan?”
“S-she remembered too much,” I stuttered. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but Kondo-Kana would’ve gone without me…”
There was no flash of anger, no exasperated sigh. Queen Nasrin remained focused and managed to forget that there was anyone in the room other than Kondo-Kana. From how quickly she worked and how still Varn and Atalanta remained, I knew it wasn’t the first time it had happened.
She gathered Kondo-Kana up in a swathe of torn red cloth and wrapped her arms around her waist as though it could keep the light in. Guiding her to an armchair, Queen Nasrin knelt in front of her and placed her hands on her knees.
“Kana. Kana, listen to me,” she said, reaching for her hands. Queen Nasrin’s fingers slipped straight through, leaving her clutching at flames that wouldn’t burn her. “You’re here. You’re still here.”
Kondo-Kana moved. She curled into the corner of the armchair and tucked her knees under her. She held her hands out and stared at her palms as they faded in front of her.
“Nasrin…” Kondo-Kana murmured weakly. “I don’t want to die again. Please. Don’t… don’t make me go through that, I cannot—”
“Shh, shh,” Queen Nasrin said, offering her hands out again. “You’re safe here, Kana. You aren’t going to die. As long as you wish to stay on Bosma, I will anchor you. Do you understand that?”
Nodding weakly, Kondo-Kana reached out, terrified the light would slip through Queen Nasrin’s fingers again. My heart turned to ice in my chest, and I prayed that Kondo-Kana had been right about what we were. I prayed to Isjin to let her stay on Bosma and not to reclaim her light as she had Iseul’s.
Fingers curling to my palms, Kondo-Kana finally clasped Queen Nasrin’s hands. She was a real, solid thing, and the light slowly retreated.
My heart thawed and lurched. I knitted my fingers in my hair and turned away to take a deep breath. Varn and Atalanta shifted uncomfortably, staring at something interesting on the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have taken her if I didn’t think she’d go without me. If I’d known that would happen… I just—”
