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“That’s it,” Myter encourages behind me as I slowly, steadily inhale, attempting to breathe in enough of the Greater Divinity’s power to fill the remaining bits of emptiness inside me left by my now-depleted kelai.
A tear in the space in front of us immediately appears, a thin line, barely visible against the crystalline trees and foliage. A door.
After what’s felt like days of training, I’ve finally mastered opening the pathways, which is why it’s now time to return to Irfut and search for the location of my kelai.
“Go on, Deka,” Britta whispers encouragingly from beside me when the tear stalls, reacting to my uncertainty about once again entering the village of my birth. “Ye can do it.”
I nod, concentrating on bending the edges of space farther and farther apart. I will not let my awful memories of Irfut stand in the way of finding my kelai. I continue pushing. Then, finally, the door is fully open. And there it is: Irfut.
Or, rather, the remains of it.
I stare, stunned to silence, as I take in the charred husks of cottages, the misshapen ruin of what was once the wall. Bright red gleams in the corner—not blood but a broken door. It’s the only spot of brightness in the village, which is now uniformly gray from the ash that covers everything. Wind whistles in the distance. Its sharp refrain echoes around the temple, the only structure that remains relatively upright, although its once-proud rooftop is collapsed and the statues that once lined its facade have been worn away, as if a sandstorm blistered over them.
As I stare at it, the temple seems to jolt. The door I opened has moved closer to it in response to my curiosity. That’s the tricky thing about doors: they’re easily influenced, especially by emotions. And mine are extremely heightened now. My stomach is in knots, as I think of my time in Irfut’s cellar. Elder Durkas, the village priest, and the other village leaders spent weeks attempting to kill me for the sin of being an alaki. Nine times they tried. By nine different methods. And the entire while, I wished for death to come—prayed for it—because I believed I was wicked, inherently sinful.
Only later did I understand how deeply false this assumption was.
“Deka…” A warm hand massages my shoulder. Keita, worry in his eyes.
I put my hand over his. “It’s all right,” I say. “I’m all right.”
I will no longer fall into despair when old memories rise inside me. I have power over them now. Power over myself.
To prove this, I step through the door, which has finally reached its full size. The acrid smell of ash and flame assaults my nostrils. The fire that consumed the village must have been recent. But not so recent it left any embers or warmth behind. I shiver as wind gusts over me. Ayo’s armor may be sturdy, but it certainly isn’t warm.
As I take in the full force of the devastation, Britta steps through the door after me. “Wha happened here?” she asks, eyes wide.
I glance around, searching for the answer. Before, this place would be ablaze with lights and music.
Now, there is nothing.
Then I take a step forward, and ash crunches under my feet. Another shiver rolls over me. There’s a wrongness to it, a wrongness I’ve felt only twice before.
“Vale sand,” Keita says as he kneels down and rubs a sampling between his fingers. “A vale opened here.”
Britta frowns. “I thought vale sand was red.”
Keita shrugs. “Maybe each vale is different. But the sand feels the same.”
“How is it here?” I ask, unnerved. “Across the entire village?”
“It’s as Lord Bala warned. The vales are no longer contained in their own realms; they are bleeding into this one.” We all turn when Myter explains this from inside the pathways. “Soon there’ll be no difference between the two. If you do not hurry, all of Otera will become a vale.”
Suddenly, I can scarcely breathe, scarcely think. All of Otera will become a vale.
Beside me, Britta seems equally devastated. “But we’ve only been gone a few seconds, right?”
Myter promised to arrange it so that my friends and I would enter Irfut almost immediately after leaving Maiwuri.
They nod in affirmation. “But a few seconds is all the Oterans needed. There are more vales now. More wraiths. The deities here will try their best to gain as much power as they can.”
Just as the Maiwurian gods warned.
Myter stares at me, the implication clear. I nod. “I understand,” I say. “Thank you for all your help.”
“Let us hope it will bring you success,” the godsworn replies, bowing to me.
And then they’re gone, leaving us alone at the door of the village temple. A familiar voice sounds from inside it: Elder Durkas.
