Page 165 of Earthbound

‘Alder,’ Lettle calls me by that name again, though it no longer fits. ‘Are you doing this?’

I shake my head. ‘I am not. Mosima will fall without the magic and the tree that bound it. I cannot bring life where there is none.’ I look at the obeah. They are the result of my last attempt.

Cracks are opening up by our feet, swallowing trees whole. Lettle stumbles then falls into a crevice, her legs disappearing beneath her.

‘Help me,’ she screams.

And I am reminded of two things at once.

Cold water at my back, and a harness at my waist. My hand reaching up to her in fear. ‘Help me,’ I cry. I am Alder, and she is my friend.

The second memory is even more disturbing than the first. I churn the soil up under Lettle’s feet and I watch her fall. We are in the sanctuary. I am Afa, and she is no one to me.

It is hard remembering not loving someone. The vacuous space of feeling is there when it should not be.

That is how I know I am not Afa and could never be Afa again.

For Afa would let the people of Mosima die. And Alder would not.

So I call on all the parts of me: the soil and the rivers, the wind and the sea. I am all things that have grown with this world.

But a god I am not.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Yeeran

Yeeran didn’t know how many rocks she had lifted, but her hands left red handprints on the stone. She would claw her way back into Mosima if she had to. The tunnel had entirely collapsed, flattening into a plateau of rock. Somewhere beneath her was the city.

Pila, are you there? She would ask her mind the question every so often, but no one spoke back.

The spell must have worked, that’s all there is to it. Her thoughts didn’t comfort her like she had hoped.

She distracted herself by imagining what Pila would look like as a human. Would she be tall? Would she retain her silver eyes? How would she sound when she spoke?

The sound of drumfire behind her had quietened and Yeeran hoped Mortah had managed to rein in the might of the army. The coup heralded a new dawn for the Elven Lands. With no chieftains to lead, they would have an opportunity to reform.

‘We can begin negotiations for the Bleeding Field again. The fae will finally be able to rebuild Lorhan,’ she said to no one but herself.

If the fae still live.

The rock she was about to move began to tremble. And then it did the strangest thing. It began to melt.

The heat of it was so great that Yeeran had to jump back. She looked around. More and more of the stones were liquefying. They convalesced into a pool of fire, leaving a mirage of heat wavering above it.

The lava began to part in the centre, as though draining away. Yeeran had to avert her eyes as something as bright as the sun pushed through the molten rock.

The fray was so much larger than Yeeran could have ever appreciated until she was this close to it.

The hole the fray had made kept growing until Yeeran could see the edge of the city underneath. It was as though the ceiling of Mosima was melting away.

The lava consumed the Wasted Marshes south of the elven army camp, opening up the city to the sky for the first time.

Yeeran ran backwards to the edge of the old neutral zone, lest she be consumed too. When the liquid stone was half a league away, a cloud swirled in the sky above, and with a clap of thunder it began to hail.

The ice struck the fire, hissing and turning into steam. A hurricane hurtled across the landscape, aiding in cooling the lava. Little by little the molten rock turned black and was still. The winds died down and the clouds cleared, revealing the blue sky.

Only when Yeeran could no longer feel the heat of it did she trust herself to step onto this new land.