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“How … how are you here?” Kerrigan asked now that the reality of the situation was catching up with her. “I was in the clearing. We were performing a ritual to get my magic back.”
Cyrene arched an eyebrow. “Back?”
“It’s a long story. The gist of it is that those people who didn’t want you to compete in the dragon tournament decided they didn’t want the rest of us alive. I just happened to be the scapegoat for the entire movement.”
Cyrene pursed her lips. “I see.”
“But I performed the ritual. It didn’t work. And now … now, I’m here. It’s the wrong season. Everyone else is gone. I don’t …”
“I’ve learned to just go with it,” Cyrene admitted.
“Something like this has happened to you before?”
Cyrene chuckled. “Ah, yes. Many times.”
“But you … you never lost your magic.”
“No,” she admitted. “This is something different.”
“So, why am I here?”
Cyrene took a seat opposite her. She was no older than the day Kerrigan had last seen her, and yet she felt years wiser. “Why do you think you’re here?”
Kerrigan nearly choked on the tea as it warmed her throat. “I don’t even know where here is. Is this the spirit plane? I can’t feel its magic.”
“Of sorts. What do you know of the spirit plane?”
“It’s a magical realm connected to our subconscious and unconscious self. You can speak to people across dimensions, learn magic, travel long distances …” She trailed off. It didn’t sound sufficient for what it really was.
“And the dead?” Cyrene prompted.
Kerrigan blinked at her. “Are you dead? Is that why you look the same? Oh gods!”
“No,” Cyrene said quickly. “No, I’m perfectly safe and whole back home in Byern, I assure you. I was called when you needed me. As others have been called to assist me.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” she said, blowing out her breath heavily. “I couldn’t take one more blow.”
“I’m familiar with that feeling.” Their eyes met again, and she began, “The spirit plane is not just a place for the living. It is a way to commune with the dead. With the ancestors of Doma past who have put you where you are right now. It’s not a conjuring or haunting,” she said when she saw Kerrigan’s fearful face. “It’s more like connecting.”
“That’s why I’m here? I need to connect with the dead?”
“Perhaps,” Cyrene said. “You reached out for me.”
“I didn’t …”
“Unknowingly perhaps, but you did it. And with me comes the history of Doma in my world. The wonders of hundreds of girls just like you and me who had magic and had to fight their way to the top.”
“This is nice and all,” Kerrigan said, wincing as feeling began to return to her feet and with it came pain. “But how does that get my magic back?”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” Cyrene conceded.
Kerrigan blanched. “But that doesn’t make sense. If I called you in the middle of my ritual to return my magic, then you must have answers on how to get it back.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone had all the answers?”
She sagged. Cyrene didn’t have answers. That was … that wasn’t possible. Cyrene had had all the answers. Only Cyrene had remained pure and untainted by the disappointment in Kerrigan’s life. Was this the lesson? Never meet your heroes? Because she had wanted Cyrene to fix all of her problems once before, and then she had left, like all the others. Now, she was here, and she had no more answer as to how to fix all of this than Kerrigan did.
It wasn’t Cyrene’s fault, but it didn’t stop the anger at the situation and her loss of magic and the fact that there were no answers.
“If you can’t help, I don’t understand why you’re here,” she snapped.
Cyrene arched an eyebrow. She looked imperious and bold and confident. As if she’d never had reason to second guess herself. And that infuriated Kerrigan more than ever.
“You sit there in your Byern wool, safely tucked away in your home, and you know nothing of my troubles. You don’t know how to fix them. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Okay. If you’d prefer to do this alone,” Cyrene said, coming to her feet.
“No, wait …”
Kerrigan tried stand but flopped backward. Her feet had lost the ability to support her weight. The pain made her curse up a storm as anger, humiliation, and despair all mingled together. She’d done everything right. She’d tried as hard as she could. If even Cyrene couldn’t help her, who could?
When the last curse word left Kerrigan’s mouth, Cyrene began to laugh. “Oh Creator, we are so much alike, aren’t we?”
The anger drained away instantly. And with it came all her fears and frustrations once more.
“I’m just so lost,” Kerrigan said on a choked sob. “I’ve been putting on a brave face this whole time. I went in search of my mother. I’ve fought literal wars. How much more do I have to do to succeed? How much more of myself do I have to give?”
