Spin of Fate, page 25
“On the contrary, when a soul’s spin changes from negative to positive, they are not forced through the torana from Malin into Mayana. Because the Second Principle still allows souls to exist in realms with spins lesser than their own. However, they become able to ascend if they so wish.”
“That’s what happened to me,” Aina confirmed. “I never even realized I could ascend till I slipped through the torana. But what does that have to do with the blank space or white flash?”
“There is a moment in ascension and descension between Malin and Mayana,” Zenyra said, “when the soul stops spinning altogether. It is an infinitesimal moment before the soul’s spin changes direction. In that instant, the soul has a spin of zero.”
“A soul with no spin.” It made sense mathematically, though Aina still didn’t see why it was important.
“During that split second of zero spin,” Zenyra said, “the soul passes through another place. The Universal Void. Some call it the fifth realm.”
“There’s a fifth realm?” Aina asked, sitting upright.
“The Void is not a habitable realm like the others, just a blank space of nothingness. It is not governed by Toranic Law, which means any can enter it. However, the Preservation destroyed nearly all the torana leading to the Void centuries ago.
“The only remaining way to access it is to open a torana by force. This happens naturally when a soul’s spin becomes zero, although the torana disappears once the soul starts spinning again. For most souls, the transition is so fast that the Void remains open for a split second, registered in the brain as no more than a flash of white.
“But in your case…” Zenyra paused. “Since your chitrons change their spin more gradually than most, your transition through the Void lasts a few full seconds. The torana you open ought to remain usable for that time, before it disappears.”
Her eyes sparkled, but Aina still did not understand the appeal. “What’s in the Void?”
“Nothing, supposedly,” Zenyra said. “It is called the Universal Void for that reason, and its function remains a mystery.”
“Then why did the Preservation destroy all the torana leading to it?”
“Do not ask me why the Preservation do anything, Aina. The actions of those sanctimonious fools oft defy logic.”
“Right.” Aina sighed. “So I can open a door to a nowhere realm with nothing in it.”
Did Zenyra think this tidbit of information would cheer her up? It was oddly intriguing, but Aina could find no use for it. Besides, she did not think her soul would change spin again soon, given the state of her keiza. She had spent half a day flying around Malin with her chitrons bared, after all, and her keiza still shone bright.
“Is my defect the only reason I’m not like her?” Aina asked, alarmed by the revelation. “You said it yourself. My soul changes spin slower than others. If my keiza was normal, does that mean I would have descended by now?”
Much as Aina had wanted to descend to Malin before, four moons with the Balancers had made her realize being Mayani was not so bad after all. She didn’t want to become like Kaldrav’s soldiers, who harmed innocent children without a care. She didn’t want to become like Kanna, who destroyed everything around her each time she channeled.
Aina looked at Zenyra desperately, her voice small. “I don’t want to turn into a monster.”
“Oh, Aina,” Zenyra said softly. “You sweet child.” She took Aina’s hands in hers. “You could never be a monster. Not when you have such a good, kind heart.”
“How do you know that?” Aina asked. “I’ve done bad things too. Not as bad as my—as Kanna. But up in Mayana, I stole, and I injured, and I did things that would be punishable by Toranic Law. I wish I hadn’t done them, but I already have.”
“Toranic Law does not judge solely by action, Aina. Your intention, and that you deeply regret what you did, does not undo your sins. But it may lessen their severity.”
Aina nodded, and Zenyra’s eyes crinkled as she stood. “I did not tell you about your keiza to make you doubt yourself, Aina. I wanted you to know you are special…in more ways than one.”
* * *
Once she was feeling sufficiently calm, Aina left her room in search of Meizan.
She wasn’t sure what had prompted his return, but he had known Kanna in the year Aina had been in Mayana. Despite what Aina had told Zenyra—what she believed—she needed to hear it from him. Hear that Kanna really had not cared.
Meizan wasn’t in his room, by the lake, or under the banyan tree. Aina climbed the crater to search the thicket. There was no sign of him, but Aina did come across Aranel seated under a tree and lost in thought as he poked absently at the dirt with a branch.
Right. Today was Aranel’s turn for lookout.
Aina took a step forward, trying to calm her nerves. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had spoken to Aranel alone before. More often than not, he ended up pissing her off with his various obsessions—Toranic Law, his brother, ascension.
He’s just a soul-obsessed freak, Aina told herself as she wiped sweaty palms on her trousers. A soul-obsessed freak who had risked his soul coming to a battlefield to find her.
Aina took another step forward. Then she turned on her heel and made to leave the clearing.
“Aina?”
Her heart stumbled at his voice, and Aina wanted to punch something. Was there a defect in her heart as well? She turned back around, avoiding Aranel’s eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. Something about his careful, gentle tone made Aina want to cry all over again.
Instead, she forced herself to look up at him despite the wild fluttering in her heart.
“I learned about the Second Principle,” Aina said. “And I can open a door to nowhere.”
“You’re in a strange mood.”
“Where’s Meizan? I need to talk to Meizan.”
“He left for the springs a few minutes ago.” Aranel stepped toward her. She could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. “Is it about your mother, Aina? Are you doing all right?”
Aina looked away. She didn’t think she could handle a conversation about Kanna with Aranel of all people right now.
“Forgive me for asking. Of course you’re not.” Aranel rested a hand on Aina’s shoulder, and the fluttering increased tenfold. “Just…take care of yourself, all right?”
As they stood there, Aina found herself wishing against her better judgment that he’d step closer. Stroke her hair. Take her hand in his. Her fingers twitched, but before she could reach out, Aranel released her with a sad smile and returned to his spot by the tree.
Heart galloping, Aina squeaked out a thank-you and bolted from the clearing.
Stupid defective heart, Aina thought, speeding down the crater. You’re worse than my keiza!
She stopped by the lake near the entrance to the hot springs, hoping Meizan would be in a good mood once he got out. The springs tended to do that. Aina needed a visit herself.
Meizan emerged a few minutes later and sat by her side on the ground. Neither of them spoke. When Aina pulled off her boots to dip her feet into the lake, Meizan did the same.
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Aina finally said. “Did Kanna discard you too?”
Meizan stiffened, exhaling through his nose. “Sort of. Are you going to be okay?”
“You know what she’s like. That woman was never one for kindness, and…” Aina bit her lip. “Did she ever speak about me? Did you know who I was? Or that I existed?” Meizan shook his head, and Aina’s shoulders sagged.
“I know now.” Meizan offered her a half-smile. “We’re clanmates, Aina.”
“Clanmates,” Aina repeated. “I don’t think of myself as part of Kanjallen.”
“You’d be lucky to be,” Meizan said fiercely. “Kanjallen is the last free clan and the only one brave enough to stand against Kaldrav.”
Even now, his eyes glinted when he spoke of his clan. Kanna might have discarded him as she had Aina, but Meizan was still loyal to Kanjallen.
Aina watched as Meizan unbuckled the scabbard at his waist and held it out to her wordlessly.
“Is that…?” Aina peered closer. It was not the sword Meizan usually wielded, but a thicker blade, its hilt set with glittering blue gems.
“Stones from the shell of a manikai,” Meizan said. “They amplify the power of any channeling.”
“That’s useful. A better replacement for what I lost.”
“It’s a relic from Kal Ekana. Won by our first chief, Akanen, from an enemy clan in battle. It’s been passed down through chiefs since, and last belonged to your mother. She gave it to me. But you should have it.”
Aina pushed the scabbard away with a shake of her head. “She meant it for you, Meizan. Keep it.”
Meizan said nothing as he refastened the weapon to his belt.
Aina leaned back on her elbows and watched the banyan. Its blossoms swayed in the cold breeze that whistled through the crater. She was reminded of the feast from about a moon ago, the night Hiraval and the other Balancers had left. They’d met Taralei since, but not the other two.
“I wonder how they’re doing,” Aina said. “Hiraval and Reimi. Incaraz feels empty without them.” Especially Hiraval, who had been more involved in her training than even Zenyra had.
The Balancers must gather on occasion. Visit one another in the villages.
Aina would very much like to meet them again. Aranel and Meizan would be there too, and Zenyra, of course. They could drink Amaratisian wine and play Spin of Our Souls, placing bets upon the results.
“I don’t know what being in a clan is like.” Aina turned to Meizan. “But do you think—do you think the Balancers could be our clan too?”
Meizan’s lips curled, and Aina wasn’t sure if he was smiling or mocking her.
* * *
When Aina returned to her room, she stopped in front of her dresser. Kanna’s rock figurines stood in a neat row, as Aina had placed them a few weeks ago. It had seemed a waste keeping them inside a dusty pouch, especially once Aranel had fixed them.
Aina swiped her forehead. A blast of chitrons raged from her hands and ground the figurines to dust. She swept the particles off her dresser and out the window, watching as they floated across the crater, then disappeared into the darkness like the mother she no longer had.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Divine Logic
During moments like this, Aranel longed for his golden wolf helm; while stifling to wear, it did a tremendous job of concealing emotion. He struggled to keep his expression blank as he sat cross-legged atop his pole in the lake. Meizan and Aina balanced on their own poles, deep in conversation.
And as with every blessed conversation of the past week since they’d returned from Kaufgar, this one, too, had converged on one topic: the history and customs of clan Kanjallen.
“It was during the golden age of Kal Ekana,” Meizan was saying, “when the clans were at war. The other side had the gazarou. Flaming wolves could snap a man in half with one bite.”
“The gazarou are gentle beasts,” began Aranel, but both Meizan and Aina ignored him.
“We needed something to balance the fight,” continued Meizan, “but the megarya were elusive, and the last clan who dared approach a vandraghor was eaten alive. So we had no choice but to seek the nagamor’s alliance in the great war.”
“We?” Aranel interrupted. “The One Realm Era ended centuries before you were born. And I’d hardly call it a golden age. It was full of bloodshed and destruction, and the ‘great’ war you speak of threatened to shatter the universe and—” He stopped himself, wishing he could retract his words.
While the Great Toranic Separation brought peace to the upper realms, Aranel had witnessed firsthand the war that continued to rage across Malin. He remembered Meizan’s comments about death, how many Malini wished for it.
The situation during Kal Ekana might have been preferable to their current reality.
“We, as in clan Kanjallen,” Meizan deigned to reply, before returning to his story as if Aranel didn’t exist.
Aranel’s guilt gave way to irritation, along with an urge to shove Meizan off his pole. It wasn’t as if this training exercise required much concentration anymore, given their progress with precision channeling. Every time Aranel had tried to make conversation, Meizan and Aina either made fun of him or sniped at him to shut up.
“Our chief, Akanen, approached one of the nagamor,” said Meizan to Aina. “He held its gaze for a full day, and in that time lived through lifetimes of suffering. But Akanen endured the pain and didn’t look away. And with that, he gained the nagamor’s blessing and an agreement they would fight alongside his clan in the war.”
“You’ve got the timeline all wrong,” said Aranel irritably. “According to the Song of Salvation, the alliances between human and beast happened before the war started—”
“Akanen never fully recovered from the trauma.” Meizan went on, as if he hadn’t heard him. “Even as he fought through the war, his tears never stopped flowing. Eternal tears shed in eternal pain, to gain us the alliance of the nagamor.”
“That didn’t last, did it?” asked Aina. “Why did the alliance crumble?”
Aranel narrowed his eyes. What was her problem?
Aina had never cared for Malini politics. But ever since her mother had been revealed as Meizan’s clan chief, Aina had become unusually interested in everything he said. And Meizan was encouraging it, regaling her with tales about Kanjallen’s past. Tales that—historically inaccurate depictions of Kal Ekana aside—he’d never bothered sharing with Aranel, much as Aranel had asked.
If he has so much spare time, he ought to practice projection instead of being Aina’s personal storyteller.
Aranel turned to his clan-obsessed teammate, an admonition at the tip of his tongue. Meizan was recounting one of Kanjallen’s battles as he twirled an index finger above the lake. With the slightest of movements, Meizan summoned looping fountains and tiny hurricanes, bending the water to his will.
Aranel watched in fascination as a little nagamor, thick as his forearm, materialized in front of them. It arced through the air and circled overhead, showering them with droplets.
His competitive side spurred, Aranel flicked his fingers. His chitrons threaded through the dirt and molded from it a small figurine. The dirtman dashed up Aranel’s arm to perch on his shoulder. He equipped it with a grass bow and sharpened twigs, which it began shooting at the nagamor in earnest.
Meizan gave a huff, and his watery creation shot upward to dodge the barrage.
They dueled like that for a while, Aranel raising a tiny regiment of dirtmen to battle the nagamor. Their chitronic creations clashed furiously until Meizan’s nagamor opened its watery beak and dove toward the army of dirtmen, who raised their bows in response.
The nagamor swerved at the last moment. It splashed against Aranel’s face, drenching him in frigid water.
“What was that for?” demanded Aranel with a glare.
Shoulders shaking, Meizan covered his mouth and didn’t respond. His dark eyes curved into crescents, and Aranel’s embarrassment turned to wonder.
He’d never seen Meizan laugh. He hadn’t thought him capable.
“You’d know, if you’d fought in a real battle before,” said Meizan, fighting to keep a straight face. “The best tactic is to take out the commander.”
“Fine,” relented Aranel, wringing his hair. “You took out the commander. But given your nagamor has dissipated and most of my army is still intact”—he motioned at his dirtmen—“I win this round. Which brings us back to a tie this week.”
Meizan’s scowl returned. “I’m still at four wins to your three. Yesterday’s spar was a stalemate.”
“How was that a stalemate? You collapsed three seconds before I did.”
“And you count that as a win?”
“A full three seconds,” said Aranel.
“Fine.” Meizan rolled his eyes. “Take what you can. It’s the only way you stand a chance.”
Aranel cursed at him, and Meizan’s lips quirked. “Such hatred, Aranel. Careful it doesn’t weigh down your soul.”
“My soul puts up with you every waking hour, Toranic Law will understand,” retorted Aranel, suppressing a smile of his own.
Meizan hopped off his pole ten minutes later and announced he was headed to the hot springs.
“Do you have to go now?” Aina sounded panicked. “I—um—I wanted to spar!”
“I’ll spar with you,” said Aranel.
“No!” Aina leaped off her pole and refused to meet Aranel’s eyes. “N-not you. Meizan. He’s been teaching me the Kanjallen fighting style.”
“What?” Aranel bristled. “Why? What’s wrong with how you fight now?”
Aina didn’t respond, and Aranel felt another spike of annoyance. He was convinced more than ever now that she was avoiding him. Aranel didn’t know what he’d done to offend her, but she’d spent the past few days refusing to speak with him, while clinging to Meizan like ivy.
And receiving private sparring lessons, apparently.
Am I not one who’s suffered the brunt of his flashy, dizzying fight style ever since we got here? So why is he teaching it to her?
Aranel hoped Meizan would refuse Aina’s invitation. But he agreed, much to Aranel’s dismay, and followed Aina across the lake.
“I’m getting the hang of it,” Aina was saying. “I think I’ll match you with more training.”
“It’s centuries too soon for that,” replied Meizan.
As Aranel watched them leave, his chest tightened at the half smile that played across Meizan’s lips. Seeing it directed at Aina made him sick to the stomach.
