Page 70 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Before I can start the rebuilding of New Vallendor, I must take out Old Caburh’s trash.

My arrival in what is now New Nosirest comes with a restored whirlpool of Spryte moths. Their wings flash brilliant reds and golds, and their glittering dust settles on my skin.

The town before me, though, remains a shadow of the shadow that it once was, its streets marked by violence and neglect.

New Nosirest’s buildings sag with age and decay.

Their windows are shattered or boarded up, the walls cracked like rotting bones.

This place stinks of smoke and sour sweat, stale alcohol, and the reek of blood that may never wash away.

Maybe the Mera should swing by and shoot some fire to cleanse Old Caburh’s stench.

A few stragglers hiss at me, heckling and calling me names: Maelstrom, the bitch, the devil, the whore who dares to return but who won’t fight fair, not with swords but fight with fists, fight like a real man.

I don’t bother. Who puts on armor and weapons to take out the trash? Right now, I wear what every housewife in Vallendor wears to handle menial tasks: a housedress and a pair of sandals.

I hold my red-and-gold armor in my left hand, but in this moment, I choose to wield fire.

The heat from my fingertips crackles, and with a flick of my wrist, flames leap from my palm, striking the barriers built around three taverns and a tannery.

My fire burns several posters printed with “Kill This Evil” slogans and my likeness, tacked to standing posts.

As the flames swirl around my fingers, I’m glad to know that this broken town will not suffer from people like this much longer.

They’d made Old Caburh–New Nosirest such a miserable place.

The Broken Hammer Inn still stands, but its once-proud sign now hangs crooked, the wood weathered and decaying.

Three angry men with axes—grizzled and wild-eyed, their clothes torn, their faces smeared with dirt and blood—hack at the battered red doors.

Their frantic chopping is driven by anger and hate.

They can’t even focus long enough to hit the same place twice.

My sandals are silent on the cracked cobblestones as I approach the inn’s porch. Unlike these three, I can focus, and my eyes seek out this trio as the fire inside of me builds with each step I take.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” I say.

The men freeze, their axes in the air. They turn to face me, their shoulders hitched to their ears, their faces twisted in rage.

The gray-haired man levels his ax and spits, “Maelstrom, you bitch—”

I whisk him away with a sweep of my hand, sending him and his slurs to their deaths six hundred paces away.

The one with the permanent scowl shouts and rushes toward me with his ax raised.

With only a thought, I turn that ax on its wielder, and the blade lands right down the middle of the angry man’s brow.

The third man drops his ax and runs away. He tries to make it home, but he shouldn’t have a home here, not anymore. Did he not hear me the last time? I said what I said.

With a flick of my hand, I drag him along that broken cobblestone road and slam him into the side of a large wood crate.

And now that my housework is done, on to bigger things. Like making Vallendor the realm it deserves to be.

…

Twenty dawns have come and gone since I faced the traitor, Danar Rrivae.

Now, on the twenty-first, Elyn and the Raqiel sentinels stand at the repaired gates of New Gasho.

Her white pangolin-scaled armor reflects all the light of the realm and brightens the land with possibility and promise.

The Gashoans, though accustomed to the presence of gods, have never seen such splendor as Elyn Fynal, Grand Adjudicator of Vallendor and the Nine Realms, Sentinel and Divine Mediator.

They bow their heads in her presence—and then they gasp in awe as I come to stand beside her in my lemon- and orange-hued sarong.

Over in the courtyard, the city-folk of Gasho fete us with song and dance, hailing our renewal during this feast of thanksgiving.

A quartet of girls wearing golden gowns, their hair combed into four puffy ponytails, stands before me and Elyn with their hands clasped before them, their cheeks ruddy.

With encouragement from one of the girls’ mothers and a wide smile from me, they clear their throats and sing.

All is right in Celestial’s might.

All is right, all is right.

Where she is, there will be joy,

For every girl and every boy.

Find me safe in Celestial’s arms.

Safe from harm, safe from harm…

I clap— they are the cutest —and my eyes fill with tears.

I accept the platter of stuffed figs offered to me by two girls with tufted ponytails that remind me of my own hair. They curtsy and giggle and call me, “Miss Celestial.” Their smiles are brightened by their missing front teeth.

A short column of soldiers marches toward us, and even though not one man smiles, their eyes sparkle with pride in their service of this city again.

The city dwellers fall silent as Intendant Wosre, healed from his injuries, stands before us again and says, “With healing hands, she gently weaves our song of life. With cosmic sword, she fights the shadows that stain our night. She will return triumphant for battles seen and those not yet won.”

Hopefully, Gasho—and Vallendor—won’t see any battles in the coming age. That is my own prayer.

I scan the faces of the crowds and— There!

I spot Iretah, the woman I met on my first day back in Gasho. Nenefer is beside her, and she’s holding her orphaned niece, Tymy, in her arms. I rush over to the small family. Iretah offers me Tymy. I hug the baby and take in her vanilla-and-soap scent.

“You kept your promise,” the young mother whispers, her eyes bright with tears.

I kiss the top of her head and return Tymy to her arms. “Be well.”

Elyn looks around one last time—to the gushing water fountains, the repaved mosaic tiles, the alabaster temple and belltower, and most importantly, the old and young faces of Gashoans, their bodies brimming with the blue of health…and hope.

Shari romps playfully with the Gashoan children in the long grass.

Her energy in no way reflects the remaining work we must do in the seasons ahead.

But these folks will do more than just survive in Vallendor—they will thrive , too.

The youngsters laugh, their innocent faces bright as they reach out to the wolf. Shari nuzzles and yips and loves.

Around the city, the work already takes shape, like the spoiled dirt surrounding the town, now slowly being nurtured back to health, softening as tiny shoots of green push through the cracks.

We’ve begun building dams and bulwarks to contain the growing lake—and the lake, once a trickle, now swells with life and spreads across the land, bringing with it the power to nourish the crops, sustain the people, and restore balance to the ravaged environment.

“We’re not done,” I tell Elyn with a small shrug.

“I’m not worried.” Satisfied, Elyn turns on her heel. “Walk with me.”

We head toward the grove of date palms, sweet-smelling from the plump fruit hanging now from their bunches.

“There’s one last task I’m required to complete,” she says, accepting a date from me.

I bite into my own fruit. Chewy, nutty, sweet. My eyes close with bliss.

“Kai,” Elyn says.

I smile at her and then school my expression into something more solemn. “Sorry.”

“Take a knee, please,” she says, seriously.

Ah. My heart pounds as I kneel before her.

“You have reclaimed your position as Grand Defender of Vallendor Realm,” she says, “the ten-thousandth of the seventy thousand realms. You are to heal this land and all that is in it. You are to observe the stewards here, guide them as they guide all mortal life. Share counsel with the Renrians in their wealth of knowledge and wisdom. You are to direct the Mera who have been charged as protectors of this realm, who are responsible for safeguarding this place from any threats, both mortal and immortal. You are to do all of this in accordance with our ways, as mandated by the Council of High Orders. Do you accept this charge?”

Tears of joy burn in my eyes. “I accept this charge.”

“Then I bind you to this promise,” she says.

Supreme placed gods in realms across the Aetherium to heal and protect the beings of our realms. To guide and teach—from treating each other with love and respect to protecting homelands from enemies.

We are to bless the mortals with abundant harvests, offer warnings, and nurture visions.

We provide protective barriers and intervene when needed—and deserved.

If mortals didn’t need us, then Supreme’s decision to designate us as representatives would be pointless.

I take Elyn’s offered hand, and she helps me to stand. We share a long, firm hug.

“Sister,” Elyn whispers.

“Sister.” I kiss her cheek.

We both exhale and take a deeper breath.

“So what did you want to show me?” she asks.

…

No white smoke billows from this cottage’s chimney. The surrounding trees are now gnarled stumps and twist toward the ground. The front door lies flat and cracked across the threshold. I almost expect Veril to step out onto the porch to say, “What mortal nonsense is this, dearest?”

I close my eyes and think about the crowded hearth and comfortable chairs waiting inside. “He was a great man,” I say, my throat tight. “An extraordinary teacher, and I still had so much to learn from him but…”

“Tomorrow, it will be better,” Elyn says. “Where some see tragedy, Veril would see hope. And he’d be happy that you’ve returned here.”

Shari barks, then lopes into the meadow behind the cottage.

“No killing,” I shout after her.