Page 96 of The Merciless Ones
But none of the names work. None of the colours. None of the emotions.
Our counterparts slowly recede from the veil, and when I look upon our affinity, it has been severed from their side, only the barest hint of a connection left. Horror suffuses me in an unending white. We are the cosmos. Our kind cannot exist separate from each other. Even our split into pairs has made us weaker, more fragile.
“Anok! Anok!” I call, but it is a fruitless task.
She is gone.
Desolation turns me black with confusion and rage. Anok lied. She lied to me. She never told me the true name she had chosen. Except…I did the same with her. Sorrow sinks icy blues and chilling purples into my being. Winter storms lash coastlines. Is this what it means to be severed? To be split into two, each entity protecting itself? Was I truly something Anok needed protection from? Was she truly something that I needed separation from?
She will not answer you…
The space around me parts as as a massive consciousness emerges. The Singular – the one who never split themself. They have been hovering this entire time, watching. Silent, thoughtful. Having never severed, having never even considered it, they cannot understand the complexity of our emotions now, just as we can no longer truly comprehend theirs.
But they see everything. Much more than I can in my current state.
“How?” I ask. “How did they gain enough power to do this?”
The Singular flows closer, gazing at me dispassionately. Unlike the rest of us, they never chose a name, never chose anything that would mark themselves separate from us. From the rest of the cosmos.
Worship, they explain in the chilling whispers of the deepest, darkest spaces. Your other selves, they discovered the power of human worship.
“Can you help us?” I ask them. “Can you free us?”
No… We will remain neutral, as we vowed. As is our purpose. All we can do is maintain the balance, now that you have severed.
Blue purple black. Despair, sorrow, hopelessness. My emotions are filled with them now. The Singular wraps themself comfortingly around me, their vastness easily encompassing mine. I’ve become so small over the millennia. So much less than I was. They caress me, radiating warm yellows and oranges of comfort. Their presence feels so familiar. Such security in their being.
Do not despair, Okot, they rumble. We can offer some small aid to tip the balance.
Why would you help us? I ask. It’s not in their nature to interfere with the rest of us.
The Singular’s essence ripples. Now that you have separated, they respond. We must maintain the balance at all costs.
“What can you do?”
We can show you how to gain worship from beyond the veil…
I wake to find myself in a soft lap, the sun low in the sky and a warm evening wind flowing over my robes. When I scramble up, confused, the others are huddled in small groups across Ixa’s back, Keita sitting at my companion’s head-spike speaking with Rian. Only Britta notices I’m awake. But then, I’ve been lying in her lap this entire time.
“Well?” she asks, impatient. “What did you see?”
I force myself to sit up fully, to try to arrange my thoughts. I saw so many things as I flowed through Okot’s mind, much of it confirmation of what I already knew. The most important confirmation, however, came from the flashes I saw in the tether: all those armies fighting, those dead bodies littering the fields. The mothers were absolutely justified in their decision to lock the Idugu behind the veil. Once the male gods began creating baseless wars for their own amusement, killing millions for sport, they no longer deserved freedom – although poor Okot should have been exempt. He was just there, an innocent bystander swept away by the deeds of his brothers.
Not that he’s innocent any longer.
It was his presence I felt in Zhúshan, gorging itself on the sacrifice of those poor girls, his voice I heard in that alley just after Father died. Even when the Idugu spoke to me, his voice was foremost. The Merciless One, he called himself. Whatever pity I may have felt for him cannot stand in the face of all the atrocities he’s no doubt committed in the millennia since he was locked away.
I also understand now what White Hands meant when she asked me to verify the names of things. Divine names are things of power – things that can compel the gods themselves. It’s just unfortunate that I don’t know what each of the Gilded Ones or the Idugu’s true names are, much less have the ability to use them. Which, of course, begs the question of how White Hands knew to prompt me about that, given that her memory keeps failing her.
I turn to Britta and take a swig from the waterskin she’s handing me. “I’ll explain everything when we land,” I say, weary. Judging by Ixa’s laboured movements, that should be any moment now. “Any visits from White Hands while I was asleep?” I ask. It isn’t like the wily Firstborn to be gone for so long, especially not at such an important juncture.
I’m relieved when Britta shakes her head. “No. Not a peep.”
“No news is good news,” I say brightly. White Hands would inform us immediately if the Idugu’s armies were already attacking Abeya. Of that, I have no doubt.
Since she hasn’t yet, we still have time.
Ixa rumbles – an indication he’s about to land – so I hold on tight, staring at my surroundings with fascination. This is a different route from all the ones we took before. When we were on campaign, there was only sand, dunes and dunes of it rolling into the distance. Now, the sun glows moody orange over immense groves of baobabs, streaks of purple and gold painting the rapidly darkening sky.