Page 69

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

ZéLIE

W E LOST.…

Everything we fought to stop plays out behind my eyes. I see the flames engulfing Or?sha’s coast. The barren land my nation will become. I feel the weight of every skeleton that will lie in the ashes. The magic that will never reign again. A hard numbness leaks from inside.

I’ve failed everyone I love.

King Baldyr holds me to his chest as we ride across the torchlit plains on a giant beast. The armor-plated white bear gallops with a mighty force. Dirt rips up from its protruding claws.

A wild war party flanks us on both sides. Skulls beat their crimson drums. Their red torches cover us in a garnet haze. Their shrieks echo through my bones.

As we ride, I sense their magic. It fills the lands around us. Towering white trees come to life before my eyes. Faces leer at me through the bark as their leafless branches twist up to the skies.

Massive statues line the main trail, formed from the same bloodmetal of their weapons.

Moss-covered axes rise from the dirt. Others honor the bears they ride.

One statue features a mighty Skull. It hoists a collection of boulders over its tarnished shoulder, creating a pathway for us to ride through.

The voices of their ancients surround us. They pass through the biting winds. Their screams reverberate through the ground beneath us.

Their harsh whispers fill my ears.

“Your storm for his…”

As we ride, the warriors chant. A Silver Skull leads their battle cry.

“All hail King Baldyr!”

“ All hail King Baldyr! ” the Skulls echo.

“Father of the Storms!”

“Father of the Storms!”

The chant spreads from their warriors to the villagers who line the streets. The tribespeople pour out of modest dwellings built from logs. They climb to the tops of their stone wells. Others scale their triangular roofs, thatched with turf and straw.

For the first time, I see the people who make up their tribes. Their hunters. Their tradesmen. Their wives. Each wears a mask made of wood, covering all but their icy eyes.

A young girl runs to the dirt road. She holds on to her mother’s skirts. I don’t know what to feel when we lock eyes. The girl’s red curls blow in the wind as we pass.

King Baldyr rides ahead, unaffected by the worship of his people, the praise of his men.

He keeps his focus on the torchlit mountain bluff.

On the mountain’s side, the sculpture of a giant Skull stretches from the black seas to the bluff’s peak.

At the top, the silhouettes of crooked statues jut out from under the Blood Moon.

When we reach the bottom, Baldyr comes to a stop. He leaps from his white bear. The king lifts me into the sky like a trophy.

“ Prepare the girls! ” Baldyr yells.

T HE

GALDRASMIDAR

DESCEND as one. There’s nothing Mae’e and I can do to fight them off. Each wears a collection of white furs. They cover their faces with carved-out animal skulls.

The same runes carved into Baldyr’s body glisten on their masks. The ancient marks glow red under the Blood Moon.

Chants ring as they remove us from the warriors to drag us into their torchlit caves.

Shriveled hands pull at me from every direction.

Their fingers hit my skin like ice. They throw the golden exoskeleton into a roaring blaze.

They rip through the braids in my hair. They strip me of every item I wear until I’m left shivering, completely naked in the frigid air.

“ For the Father of the Storms …,” an elder croaks. The woman points, and the galdrasmiear drag me to a wooden bath filled with blood. I choke as they throw me in, holding my head below the murky surface.

The galdrasmiear shove me down again and again. As they chant, the crimson bath boils. They scrub until my white hair is stained red. They scrub to wash away all that I am.

When they finally lift me up, I gasp for relief. My lungs burn. It hurts to breathe. I can hardly see straight through the haze. My head hangs as they throw my body against a stone slab.

Someone uses a rope to tie me down. The rough cords bind my wrists and ankles, forcing me to stay still. An elder approaches me with a whittled bone. She looms over me, bringing me face-to-face with the animal skull.

“ Argh! ” I cry out as she brings the bone down. Someone shoves a strip of animal fur into my mouth. More hands press down on my face, forcing me to stay still.

The elder starts at my temple. She’s vicious with every stroke she takes. I seize as she carves rectangular runes into me, the same jagged marks that run through King Baldyr’s fair skin.

At my back, Mae’e screams. Her shrieks could break glass. She calls out to Mama Gaīa.

She prays for it all to end.

Help us.

I lift the words to whoever will answer my call. My body twitches against the stone slab. After a while, I can’t cry out at all.

With each new rune, more voices enter my head. The medallion glows red. The golden veins that cover my body thicken, growing in strength.

The elder doesn’t stop until the runes cover the entire left side of my body—from the black crown in my skull to the very bottom of my feet. When she’s done, she releases the whittled bone. I can hardly see beyond the agony, but I follow the bone’s path across the stone floor.

By the time they release me from the slab, I no longer exist. They drop me and I crumple into a heap. The whittled bone waits beyond my fingertips. It’s all I can do to hold it close. I clutch it in my fingers, hiding it in my hair before they lift me up.

The galdrasmiear dress me in a tattered silk robe. They fix a mask made of golden bones over my nose. When it’s over, there’s only one item left for each of us: white silk scarves to tie around our throats.

“ Do not do this ,” Mae’e wheezes in their tongue. The hierophant is a shell of the sacred mystic I know. Her entire body shakes. The blood from the new runes carved into her skin falls to the ground.

“ I beg you ,” Mae’e gasps. “ I pray to you. Save us. ”

Every galdrasmier stares, but the elder breaks from the pack. She removes her animal-skull mask, allowing us to see her own carved-up face. A band of black paint covers the bridge of her nose, accentuating her doll-like eyes.

The elder ties the scarf around Mae’e’s neck, staring straight into the hierophant’s diamond gaze.

“ Do not pray to be saved. ” Her voice creaks. “ Pray to be reborn. ”