After Thunder and Darkness finished up fishing, we returned to the main fleet for breakfast, then set out for another day of experiments out on the open ocean.

Kostelius had wanted to join this time, citing his worries that yesterday’s spirit would return, but Thunder protested hard, saying that Kostelius was being overprotective and there was no reason to think that yesterday’s spirit would return, and anyway, hadn’t things turned out fine in the end?

Eventually, Kostelius caved, under the condition that Thunder listened to me and the others if anything happened. He also drew me aside to talk privately. I’m sure he had a lot he wanted to say, but in the end, he just sighed and asked me to look after Thunder as carefully as I could. I said that I’d try.

Out here on the open water, Maris’ experimental setup hadn’t changed from yesterday, except that she now also had [Blood Omen]’s feather hanging from her neck.

“Any ideas about how best to use it?” I asked her.

“Oh, a few.” Her thin lips curled up in a smile. “If it works, then some sacrificial flow users will be in for a very nasty surprise today.”

“Not me, I hope…”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Have courage, young man. The spirit that gifted this marvelous curse to you will surely be careful not to harm you with it.”

“Hey. This is making me feel less confident than before.”

We chatted a little bit like that during the setup before Maris and Thais slipped under the water again, leaving Thunder and I alone.

“So,” I said. “[Blood Omen]’s probably gonna show up again. You didn’t want your grandpa here for that?”

“You don’t want more people to see either,” Thunder said confidently.

That was true, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I was failing my responsibilities as the older generation or something. On the other hand, I felt we had a good measure of today’s risks, and I’d dealt with more immediate threats to life when I was his age and younger. Wasn’t it better to have exposure to stuff like this with someone at his back?

The months between my brother’s death and meeting Teacher had been pretty rough.

“It would’ve been safer with your grandpa here.”

“Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be here if he knew. Besides, it would’ve been hard to sneak this past him.” He patted the second cooler he’d brought on the trip. “I told Grandma and Thais that I brought snacks and drinks for you and Darkness this time, but Grandpa totally would’ve busted me.”

I had to wonder how happy Kostelius would’ve been with me performing a second sacrifice to [Blood Omen]. Maybe it was better he wasn’t here after all.

“Just be careful about what you say in front of [Blood Omen]. Best not to say anything at all.”

Thunder mimed zipping his mouth shut.

We spent a couple hours hanging out in the boat, using the sacrificial flow frame to kill fish on command, before Thais came back to us with a satisfied announcement that they’d figured everything out, and we could go back early for the day.

“How long will it take you to reach the boat?” I asked.

“Counting some last cleanup down here… Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Alright. See you soon.”

I turned off the radio transmitter and turned to Thunder with a nod. He dragged out his second cooler and poured the excess water inside out into the sea, leaving behind a pile of wriggling fish. This drew over Darkness from where he’d been sunning his wings on the bow of the boat, so Thunder picked out one of the smaller fish and threw it to Darkness, who snatched it up and skittered away to be sure Thunder wouldn’t take it away again.

I summoned out [Caller]. Time to get my hands messy.

“[Blood Omen that Connects the End to the Beginning]…”

The sky above us darkened to a crimson red, as if it had been waiting for my cue. Thunder craned his head back to look up, in fear or anticipation, I wasn’t sure. I swallowed.

“…I offer up this sacrifice to you.”

Dark clouds gathered, and as [Blood Omen] descended, the ocean went still and silent. Under its expectant gaze, I picked up the first fish.

Each one, as it was killed, transformed into a streak of blood that vanished into the dark vortex of [Blood Omen]’s eye.

Finally, when the last fish had been killed, I dismissed [Caller] and bowed my head to the spirit in the sky.

“I hope this sacrifice has been to your satisfaction.”

It drifted closer to us, sending silent waves rocking our boat.

[…your… wish?…]

“Can you curse the escaped void-stepping beast that Luka and Veric are tracking down? I’d like to make it easier to track or weak enough to catch.”

[Blood Omen] ponderously tilted its head.

[…today… child… learn…]

[…prophesize… properly…]

“What do you mean?”

[…use… statements…]

I hesitated.

“I don’t want to say something that I’m not confident in, though.”

The top lid of [Blood Omen]’s eye drooped down.

[…without… power…]

[…statement… won’t…]

[…finish…]

“You mean I won’t be able to say something that won’t come true?”

The eye curved up in a smile.

[…smart… child…]

I glanced askance at Thunder. Wasn’t this thing basically asking me to give a prophecy in front of someone else?

“He’s not going to die from seeing something like that, is he?”

[Blood Omen]’s attention shifted to Thunder, who stiffened under its gaze.

[…you…]

[…won’t… tell?…]

Oops. I hadn’t meant to put any pressure on him.

“It’s asking if you’ll tell anyone.”

He shook his head rapidly. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise! Unless they already know!”

“Let’s be one hundred percent certain they know before saying anything,” I emphasized.

He nodded vigorously.

[Blood Omen]’s gaze drifted back to me.

[…no… telling… no… curse…]

“So it’s fine as long as he doesn’t tell anyone?” I confirmed one more time.

[…yes…]

[…considerate… child…]

Its eye drooped again.

[…you… will be…]

[…betrayed…]

[…by…]

[…the world…]

I smiled grimly. “Is that a prophecy, or a belief?”

[Blood Omen] didn’t answer my question this time.

Well, it was hard to be betrayed by something you didn’t believe in, right?

I took a deep breath.

“Okay. I’ll… try using statements, like you said.”

If I’d known I’d need to use statements, I would’ve asked Veric and Luka for more details so I could be more careful with my words. I’d just have to fumble through somehow.

“The escaped void-stepping beast…”

Will die today.

The words got stuck in my throat so violently that I nearly coughed.

I guess those fish weren’t enough to exchange for the death of a magical beast, either.

“…Will weaken today, until it can be…”

Safely caught.

It didn’t work.

Safely killed within a day.

It didn’t work, either.

“…quarantined without further direct damage to human life.”

In the darkness of [Blood Omen]’s pupil, a red light appeared, forming the sigil of a snake biting the end of its own tail. It rotated in [Blood Omen]’s eye, once, twice, three times, and then it faded away.

[…good… child…]

[Blood Omen] folded its wings in and rose into the sky. Crimson clouds covered its form. When the sky cleared up again and returned to its previous blue, [Blood Omen] was completely gone.

I let out a breath.

The declarations I hadn’t been able to make about that void-stepping beast were scarier than the one I’d ended with. It was probably just because I hadn’t offered up enough sacrifices, right…? I hoped that Luka and Veric would at least be safer with my intervention than they might have been without it.

I lowered my gaze from the sky, just to meet Thunder’s burning gaze.

“That was really cool.”

“Is that the only thing you took away from this?”

“How come I couldn’t hear [Blood Omen]? Did it only want to talk to you?”

I shrugged. “That’s possible. This isn’t the first time that I’ve heard things that no one else could hear, though, so… it might also just be a quirk of mine. Actually, if your family also made sacrifices, maybe it’d also respond to you. I mean, you’ve read signs and omens before, haven’t you?”

Thunder rolled his eyes. “That’s not real prophecy.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Does the Tripartite never give signs about the future?”

“No, they do sometimes, but that’s different cuz it’s you asking the First Singer for a prophecy and paying a price to hear it. And sometimes They don’t tell you, anyway. It’s way different from making a prophecy yourself.”

“Don’t titles, spirits, and other powers ultimately stem from the Tripartite, though? So it’s the Tripartite delivering knowledge of the future, either way.”

“Well… I guess,” said Thunder. “But that’s like sayin’ everything happens cuz of the Creator so you don’t got a part in any of it. Which is stupid.”

“Huh. Do people really say that?”

“It’s just an example. The way we tell the story, the Creator turned Their body into the world to give us life, so you have to respect the world and take care of it too. I don’t believe in the Creator though, cuz unlike the First Singer there’s no proof They exist outside the stories we tell.”

“But the stories are how you’ve retained important knowledge of the past, aren’t they? Like the origins and ritual for the Bright One.”

“You can still learn from something that’s not real. Everyone in my family but me and Mom believe in the Creator, but keeping our ways feels more special to me by not believing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cuz then when you take care of others and keep responsibility to the world, it’s not cuz of someone telling you, but because you decided it’s right.”

Stories that meant more precisely because they weren’t real…

The closest analogue I had were all the fables my brother told me as a kid to teach me the virtues of doing good deeds and accumulating positive karma.

Living an upright life like that was too difficult, so it was hard to say how much those lessons stuck, but… It was enough that when the time came, I was willing to take Teacher’s outstretched hand.

Maybe life would’ve been easier if I could’ve let go.

“I think I can understand,” I said. “Deciding what should be true and living by it, I mean.”

“See, exactly,” said Thunder. “Something doesn’t have to be real to mean something. Sometimes, the reality of a story is the least important thing of all.”

Maris, when she emerged from the water, looked quite satisfied. The feather on her neck had shrunk by a small portion. “It is done,” she announced. “I do believe we have made quite the bargaining chip for ourselves. Let us return!”

“Nothing crazy out here, I hope?” Thais asked, adjusting her black vest and tie over the deep green dress shirt she was wearing today.

“All good!” Thunder said. “How much longer does Acacius get to stay?”

Thais smiled and glanced at me. “Well, it is around time for lunch. What do you say to one last meal before you go?”

I didn’t believe in saying no to free food.

Kostelius had prepared quite the spread while we were out and away; he even set out seal stew that he’d been cooking since yesterday, something he said Iyirians didn’t get to try often since the conservation and hunting laws for them were quite strict. The Anthemoessians had negotiated a different set of regulations for themselves that was more in line with their traditional lifestyle, though friction over this point wasn’t unheard of; apparently, in the past, there had been problems arising from Anthemoessians selling seal meat to Iyirian buyers until certain legal loopholes had been closed.

The seal meat was dense, earthy, and rich, with a distinct undertone to it common to fish and seafood. I don’t know how Kostelius stewed it, but it was incredibly tender and flavorful. I didn’t mean to eat so much, but every time I was on the verge of cleaning out my bowl, Maris would spoon in another ladle. I guess she meant it when she said that the people of the shore weren’t feeding me enough.

When I finally raised a white flag of surrender, Maris patted me on the shoulder and told me to eat more when I could.

Finally, Thunder took Thais and I back to the city of Thassarin in his boat.

“What’s your seam number?” he asked as I disembarked. “You should add me.”

“You can always try passing a message through Thais.”

He stuck his tongue out. “But that’s so lame and would take forever.” When I put on a mock thoughtful pose, he wheedled, “Come on, I won’t bother you that much.”

“Okay, but keep it a secret,” I said, and whispered the number into his ear.

After Thunder punched the information into his seam and sent me a greeting message, he undocked from Thassarin’s port and waved enthusiastically as he sailed away. I waved back.

When I turned around, Thais smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t I get to know your contact info, too?”

I didn’t really want to tell someone who sold information about important figures for a living, but honestly, if Thunder had it, it was probably already a moot point. “Do you promise not to spread it around, too?”

Thais just laughed and changed the subject. “While you’re here, would you like to see my mother’s performance? She’s one of our most popular cultural ambassadors.”

“What does she do?”

“She does a bit of cormorant fishing, but these days, she specializes in water dances on the estuary.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said. “Let’s go.”

A trolley ride and a mild walk later, we arrived at a grand art center built with terracotta and pale yellow brick. The windows and walls were adorned with green and blue patterned accents; delicate and fragrant flowers dangled from garden columns and trellises. ROSHANARA CENTER OF VISUAL AND PERFORMING ARTS, read a large sign outside the building.

As in Roshanara Farzan, the reclusive matriarch of the Farzan family?

Thais brought me through an outdoor hallway, down a paved stone path, and out to a plaza on the banks of a river. She presented a pass to the uniformed worker at the mouth of the plaza, who nodded and gestured politely for us to join the gathering crowd.

We stood at the edge of the plaza, leaning on the walls to look out at the shimmering water. Soon, the melancholy notes of an instrument’s plucked strings floated through the air, and a long, narrow boat glided out from the shadowed arch of a distant bridge. Both ends of the boat arched up into long-beaked bird figureheads, from which hung geometric iron lanterns burning with green fire.

Threnody stood there in her feathered dress, a dark silhouette stark against the light. With slow and measured movements, she unfolded herself like a willow tree, swaying with the wind. As she parted her lips, her voice came out in a haunting and sorrowful croon. Green fire curled from the lanterns, forming flickering figures of birds in flight behind her that quickly disappeared into smoke.

The boat glided to a halt before the plaza, and as Threnody sang, she stepped out onto the surface of the water as if it was a mirror. Fire and mist leapt behind her to paint her personal stage: birds, fish, wind and water, coiling and leaping according to her graceful spins and articulate wrist and ankle movements. Occasionally, the phantoms of other dancers would emerge from the mist to echo before or trail after her moves.

The crowd gasped and sighed with the rhythm of Threnody’s dance. She picked up her pace, threw her head back, and let out a long cry. A massive and slender bird formed from water vapor burst out of the water behind her, spreading its wings to the crowd’s screams and cheers.

I leaned in towards Thais and asked, “Those phantoms are controlled using the harmonic flow frame, right? How do you create such complex and articulate visuals through flow alone? Is it just a matter of training?”

“Ah, you’ve fallen for our trick.” Thais smiled. “Our songs can’t control flow to that degree. The effects you see are a result of the storytelling and performance titles commonly earned in our clan. That’s how my grandfather’s water table works, too.”

“Whoa. Can I ask how they work? Like, do you rehearse mental images, or…?”

“To an extent. Depending on your proficiency, you can influence what appears and when. However, it might be easiest to think of those phantoms as ‘past iterations of the story that resonate with the current telling.’”

“How do you know they’re past iterations?”

“Based on the title descriptions in our Records and certain personal flairs that get passed down through specific lineages of oral history. Referencing a specific storyteller’s performance often conjures up phantoms from their telling.”

“Like tangible proof of your ties and your history,” I mused. “That’s pretty cool.”

“You got it. I think it’s also in line with our general philosophy about the world.”

“Which is?”

“Hmm… I’m no great storyteller, but it’s something like this.

“In the beginning, the Creator became the world and gave us life. Before They finished Their self-creation and fell into slumber, They cut a portion of Their brain, heart, and stomach and molded them into the First Singer. They left the First Singer with two sacred duties. The first was to guide the People, granting us story and memory through which we could grow; the second was to eternally sing the story of the world to the Creator, so that the Creator, even in Their dreams, would know the form of the world and keep Their body in its shape.

“Without the First Singer’s stories, they say the Creator will wake and the world as we know it will dissolve and come to an end. That is why it is our responsibility to the world to remember the past and tell our stories, that the First Singer’s song will never end.

“However, it isn’t that the First Singer’s story has never come to an end before, but that Their current telling has yet to reach the end.”

I furrowed my brows. “What does that mean, exactly? That the world has ended before?”

Thais shrugged. “It’s not a popular position, I’ll admit, or much respected in modern day scholarship. The commonly accepted theory is that Kosmonymia’s eras of hidden history are merely the results of Legend-level figures removing certain legacies from the world. Our oral traditions have some stories from those ‘hidden histories,’ but they run contradictory to the current trajectory of the world, so most are inclined to believe them mere fantasy.”

I held up a hand. “Wait, let me see if I’m following you. In your proposed worldview, every ‘hidden history’ is a point where, in another iteration of the ‘story,’ Kosmonymia was destroyed; however, when the First Singer tells the story again, that history changes, and the world continues to exist past its destruction. Is that correct?”

Thais quirked a mouth. “Hard to believe? I get it. But, you know, I think there’s a reason why it’s impossible to tell some of our stories without the proper protective rituals. Without the First Singer shielding our stories, that knowledge would probably be hidden again by whatever forces hid that history in the first place.”

Damn. “Now I really want to attend one of these storytelling rituals. Feels like there’s so much of the world I don’t know.”

Thais laughed. “Why don’t you start by learning a little more of our language? Our proper storytelling days aren’t done in Iyirian, you know.”

I huffed. “Right. Anyway, you don’t have to answer this, but… during these periods of missing history, how many, um, world-ending threats happened at once? Was it just one per period, or… theoretically…”

Thais slowly turned her head to stare at me. I coughed. “Just for reference. Also, if the world was destroyed, how did anyone come back and remember what happened? It can’t have just been hear-say from the First Singer, right?”

“…When you craft a story, sometimes, you reach a dead end in the telling, so you retrace your steps to an earlier point and try telling the story again with a different sequence of events. So I don’t think anyone remembers the world ending; it’s more just that parts of the original story… leaked through.”

“Like with your storytelling phantoms?” I said, nodding at the fantastical scenes shifting with Threnody’s dance.

“Like with the echoes that our titles bring forth,” Thais agreed. She raised a pointed eyebrow at me. “But I’m sure there are others in the world who have resonated with the First Singer’s past stories, too.”

Thankfully, we dropped the conversation there. Once Threnody’s performance concluded, she curtsied to the audience and sailed away out of sight. We left alongside the dispersing audience, passing by early arrivals coming for Threnody’s next scheduled dance.

Thais and I returned to Nithemoore City through the government’s internal transportation network once more. On the broad doorsteps of the teleportation gate building, we took a moment to discuss next steps.

“My grandmother will be working with Aunt Eirene, who works on our diplomatic committee with Iyiria,” Thais told me. “They’ll need a couple days to write up a proposal for the Atmospheric Chancery using the new data my grandmother collected. After that, we’ll need backers to get our ritual approved and coordinate weather responses with the Chancery. Any chance you can get us a meeting with someone important?”

“Elaborate on ‘someone important.’”

“Someone in the Chancery who’s got the power to push back against or bypass the Farzans’ influence entirely. Ideally, we’d have Lady Xiomar herself to back us up, but…” Thais sighed. “Security is tight, her meetings are booked out six months, and she delegates open forums to her public relations officer. She’s not an easy person to get ahold of.”

Since I didn’t really know anything about the Atmospheric Chancery, the only thing I was taking away from this conversation was that I should try getting a meeting with Lady Xiomar. “I don’t promise results, but I’ll see what I can do. Let’s meet at the Department of Interjurisdictional Affairs once a day to keep on top of each other’s affairs.”

“Any particular time?”

“Not really. I’m supposed to be there all day.”

“I’ll come by in the mornings, then.”

She held her hand out and gave me a firm handshake.

“To be honest,” she said, “I’d just about given up hope that we’d be able to conduct this ritual properly, and I’m still not optimistic it’ll happen. No matter the results, though, I’m grateful that you’ve taken the time to listen to us, and especially to treat the youngest of our family well.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and strolled away, lighting a cigarette for herself as she went.

As for me, after a bit of thought, I took the trolley line to the fancy riverside hotel where Cynara had been staying. After taking the elevator to the top floor, I knocked on the door to her suite, ignoring the “Do not disturb” sign that had been hung outside. When there was no response, I started knocking harder.

Cynara flung the door open with a scowl, then drew up short when she saw it was me. “Acacius?”

“Hey, Cynara. I want your help with something.”

“What?”

“I want to arrange a meeting with Lady Xiomar. Can you figure it out?”

Her mouth flapped open. “I — I can’t get you a meeting with the head of the Atmospheric Chancery just because you want one!”

“Why not? As one of the primary contributors in solving KP-04, and as someone bearing the Duval insignia, do I not have the right to express my opinions about countermeasures for the sacrificial flow frame?” I gestured in towards her suite. “Even you’ve been forced out of your residence because of a sacrificial flow user’s wicked schemes.”

“Countermeasures?” Cynara repeated.

“Sure. Like ritually cursing anyone who’s used it recently.”

Cynara stared at me. I stared back.

“Is that just something you want, or do you actually have a plan?” she said finally.

“Why would I be here if I had nothing to show for it? Anyway, don’t you think you owe me a favor or two? Help me set this up.”

“It’s not that easy,” Cynara snapped. “You’re not the only one facing the other Great Families’ suppression, alright? That whole incident at Veratrum Row made everyone unhappy.”

What suppression? “What about Xander, then? If he cares so much about Linden, he owes me, too.”

“It’s not that easy. And Xander’s not… diplomatic.”

“I don’t think it’s easy getting the Saintess’ personal help either,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Is this really out of your reach, or do you just not want to help me?”

Cynara pressed her lips together, fingers tightening on the doorknob, before she finally lowered her head.

“When do you need the meeting by?”

“As soon as possible. Preferably this week.”

“Then at least give me a quick way to contact you.”

I rattled off my seam number, to which she gave me a wide-eyed stare.

“You got a seam?”

“What about it?”

“I thought…” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I’ll contact you with the results later. And don’t bother me here again — I’m busy enough as it is, no thanks to you.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Cynara glowered and slammed the door. I heard the distinctive click of a lock being turned.

I’d try digging for more information another time, then.

Back on the first floor, as I made to leave the hotel, one of the doormen cleared his throat and moved to stand in my way, placing his fist over his heart with bow.

“Esteemed guest, an important personage has requested to speak with you.”

“Who?”

“I have been informed that this is a matter of utmost discretion,” he said, bowing further. “Would you permit me the honor of escorting you to our sitting room?”

Considering this hotel’s clientele, was it one of the other nobles?

“Very well. Take me there.”

“I humbly thank you for your courtesy.”

He brought me down the marbled hall, through a heavy pair of ornately carved wooden doors, and into a grand sitting room with a glittering chandelier and a massive landscape painting on the wall above the fireplace mantle. Two velvety sofas were placed on either side of a low glass-and-wood table sculpted in an abstractly artistic fashion. A filigreed silver coffee set, consisting of a tall and narrow pot, a few cups and spoons, and a sugar container, had been set out on the table.

And there, sitting on the sofa farthest from me and elegantly sipping coffee from her cup, was Nastaran Farzan.

“Hello, Acacius,” she said with a smile, placing the cup down on its saucer. “How wonderful of you to join me today.”

She held up a hand with a beckoning gesture, and the single maidservant in the room approached silently from where she’d been standing by the fireplace to pour me a cup as well. I sat down on the couch opposite of Nastaran, and accepted a coffee cup from the maidservant without drinking.

Nastaran waved the maidservant back to her place. She pulled out a thin bamboo talisman engraved with oracle bone script characters from her sleeve and crushed it. It shattered into a faint light that formed a transparent barrier around us.

“Now that we’ve secured our privacy, let’s talk,” she said. “I know what you’ve been up to with the Anthemoessians, and I want you to stop.”

Chapter 72 Chapter 74