It was growing stronger. Jacen felt along it, like searching for a pulse beneath the skin.
“You’re no better,Sister Jinaan.” The Lady of Pain addressed Hesaya. “Eneva wouldn’t even let you attempt the Trial of the Gate, and you expect to be Gatekeeper? She never wanted you for a successor; you’re more Telu than Zal.” Turil wheezed another laugh. “Pity you’re all worthless. So much ugly history on this world. You know a mere fraction of it—the blood, the horror . . . Is it any wonder we intervened?”
Hesaya’s face contorted. “We were never children to be disciplined from above, you fucking parasite.”
Her rage was real, the strain on her mind apparent. Blood trickled from her nose. But any weakness was feigned. Jacen had worked with her long enough to know she sensed what he was doing—and left herself vulnerable to buy him time.
The goddess’s consciousness radiated out from Seth, vivid enough to eclipse it. But that greater presence loomed behind, and now Jacen could almost see it. Something about it was strangely familiar. He followed the tether as it continued to strengthen, deeper than he’d ever dared go.
Jacen gave himself over to his extradimensional senses, leaving his physical form behind, seeing the fabric of reality as creatures of the Source could. Time and distance ceased to exist, and he found what lay beyond the tether.
He glimpsed a stark grey chamber with a vaulted ceiling. A pale man—or something that resembled one—sat with his legs crossed, eyes closed, beside a window to the stars.
The being did not stir. He seemed to be in a deep slumber, his only sign of life the slow rise and fall of his chest. Jacen sensed another presence close by. He could not see this one, nor had he perceived it from within Seth’s mind. But the presence resembled Turil’s enough that Jacen knew who it must be: Ileth, Lady of Despair.
Two gods, opening a channel to the third. Turil was having some difficulty, still sluggish from sedative and under assault from three telepaths, but she was close.
To what end?
The man—who could be none other than Tharanoth, Lord of Hunger—had a presence of exceptional,remarkableclarity. His eyes remained closed; he was as detached from his physical surroundings as Jacen.
Tharanoth tilted his head. A curious gesture, as though he had seen something that, just for an instant, gave him pause—perhaps the strange familiar thing which Jacen, too, had sensed. The Lord of Hunger smiled, broad and white. Pointed canines gleamed in the glow of the stars.
Then the channel opened—from his mind to Turil’s, from the orbital station all the way to the depths of Mount Otavok. A telepathic range so immense, it shouldn’t have been possible.
Jacen had seen all he needed to. He wrenched his consciousness away. His heart slammed against his ribs as he found himself back in his body and heard Turil pronounce, “I am indulging your pathetic attempts for one reason and one reason alone: to offer an ultimatum. For every hour Neri Semira is not in our possession, we will kill one hundred in Zivora. Bring him to us or face our wrath. Let us demonstrate.”
A scream echoed from the hall. Acrackof splitting bone, and a wet splatter. More screams.
Ilusha whimpered, but Hesaya’s resolve never faltered. “Hold your ground.”
“We have just killed one hundred,” said Turil. “In one hour, we will kill a hundred more. Rich, poor, Guard, civilians, adults, children . . . We will not discriminate. We have you surrounded. We are waiting. You will release this host, and you willbring the boy to us.If he dares try to unleash Naxal’s power against us, we will level your habitable zones from orbit, one by one. Even yourinfantile god cannot be everywhere at once. He cannot protect you all. Tell him that the choice is his.”
“Monster,” Hesaya spat. She reached out a hand. “I will excise you, worm.”
“No,” Ilusha gasped. Her consciousness dropped away as she staggered back toward Nines and Ogden, hands over her ears. “They’ll kill us all!” She pounded on the door. “Let us out!”
Like a titanic dust storm, the goddess’s presence surged. It shouldn’t have been possible. Seth was not a telepath, thiswasn’t possible,and Jacen was not prepared to counter it.
Without Ilusha’s support to stem the tide, Hesaya and Jacen were shoved under. Turil’s consciousness drowned out all else. Waves of air and light rippled through Jacen’s head. All he could do was hold on, clinging to his sanity, a rock in an onslaught of wind and sand with infinite time to destroy him.
Then, there was Nines. She slipped into the space where Ilusha had been—uncertain but strong enough for two. Jacen scrambled for purchase and found it.
“Fools,” hissed Turil. The presence receded.
Jacen was doubled over, panting, blood streaming over his lips. Nines knelt across from him in a similar state. He lifted a hand to stem the flow from his nose and met Hesaya’s gaze.
“Jacen,” she rasped. “We made a— We made—” Whatever she meant to say next was lost in an unintelligible slur. The left side of her face drooped. When she tried to step toward him, she stumbled. Jacen caught her as she began to seize, blood trickling from her nostrils.
“Help!” Jacen shouted at Ogden. Though visibly shaken, the healer was already running their way.
“A stroke,” he muttered. “I’ll do everything I?—”
Ogden stopped mid-sentence. His eyes bulged. Sudden, uncharacteristic panic flared out from him. It was a scream forhelp from a man who could no longer speak—as if something had seized control of him from within.
Nines whispered, “She’s still here.”
Ogden’s breath came in short, strangled gasps, then stopped. He fell, clawing at his throat, his face a rictus of horror. His hands stiffened into unnatural contortions, battling in vain against an intangible force.
