Page 90 of Beyond the Shadowed Earth
She was falling and falling from a high cliff, a witness to her own death.
Her thousand selves never stopped, never slowed, hurtling her out of one pool and into the next until she couldn’t comprehend what she saw or what she felt or even who she was. Pain seared her. She was being pulled apart, bit by bit, unraveling one thread at a time. Soon, there would be nothing left.
But her thousand selves kept going, an unstoppable tide. Time crushed her. She couldn’t break free.
Another pool closed over her head. She couldn’t bear another memory. She shut her eyes.No more, no more,she thought. She gave herself over to oblivion.
A light shone suddenly before her, piercing and bright, and a hand that was not her own closed around her wrist.
She was pulled suddenly, violently upward, and flung upon a grassy bank, where she lay sobbing for breath. She shook and shook, and then she lay still. The gods had mercy after all. They had let her die.
“You are not dead, daughter of dust.”
Eda lifted her head to see the goddess Raiva standing between two of the awful memory pools, wind stirring through her hair and gown. “I am sorry,” said the goddess. “I did not mean to let you wander here for so long.” And she reached out and pulled Eda to her feet.
Eda stared at Raiva, still trembling, and wiped the tears from her face. Somehow, she still held tight to the godkiller. She hadn’t lost it in the wretched pools. “You saved me.” Eda’s voice was as shaky as the rest of her.
“Yes, child.” The goddess smiled, wan and sad. “Come. It is a foolish thing to say in this Circle, perhaps, but time grows short. And there is yet more that you must see.”
Raiva turned and paced between the memory pools and Eda followed, careful to step just where the goddess stepped and nowhere else. She could still feel the grasping fingers of her other selves and was not even tempted to look into any of the pools.
The goddess led her to a shadowy tree that stood in the center of the field, and Eda gasped, overwhelmed by its beauty and its sorrow.
“You know it,” said Raiva.
“The Immortal Tree. Planted by the One at the beginning.”
“It is a memory only, as all things are, in time. But it is all that is left of the Tree now, in any Circle of the world, and so I think it beautiful. Come. Touch the Tree. See what it will show you.”
Eda looked from the goddess to the Tree and back again. She raised her hand, laid it gently on the trunk.
A vision enveloped her with the strength of the memory pools, pulling her under, drowning her.
There was a great darkness, the three Stars flaring to life, Endahr formed in the midst of them. Then the world came into being, the Tree, young and strong and shining. Tuer stood on his mountain, joy and pride searing through him. She felt his strength, felt his awe at the life he was given, the world he was made to command.
The other gods and goddesses came forth. They lived and thrived beneath the Tree. Tuer’s heart was fixed on Raiva; he longed to dwell with her among her trees and be a part of her song forever.
The spirits sprang to life, thousands upon thousands of them, each formed with a drop of Starlight, no two quite the same. There were some with wings and some with scales and some with both. There were dark spirits and bright spirits and shadow spirits. Every one was beautiful. One bowed at Tuer’s feet and pledged himself into the god’s eternal service.
And then mankind awoke beneath the shadow of the Tree. They grew and flourished. But they became discontent, longing to see more of the world. A boy called Tahn stole a seed from the Tree, meaning to carry it west and build a life apart from the gods.
Tuer seared with rage at the boy’s rebellion. He struck Than down, grinding him back into the dust, his blood seeping into the earth.
Men and gods warred against one another. Death crept into the world.
And Tuer mourned. His sorrow was piercing and dark. It ate at him.
Ages of the world spun away. The god went into his mountain, creating the Circles as he went. She felt his pain and his agony. Felt the silence in the Circle of Sorrow, felt his overwhelming despair as he sent his Shadow away from him, out into the world to do his bidding.
The vision ripped away from her like a knife from a wound and Eda wrenched back from the memory of the Tree, gasping. Her face was damp with tears she didn’t remember shedding.
Raiva met her eyes, face drawn with sorrow. The goddess brushed her fingers over the trunk of the shadowy Tree, and a doorway appeared, illuminated in silver. “This is the way to the one you seek, the last door. Do what I cannot. Free him. Heal the breach. Unlock the Circles. And if you cannot do that either—” The goddess’s eyes snagged on the godkiller. “Then do what you must.”
Eda stared at the door, the knife trembling in her hand. “Why would you show me all that? How can I face Sorrow, when it’s even bigger than Time?”
“That you might understand him a little better,” said Raiva gently. “And because it needn’t be. Now go. Time grows very short.”
For a moment, Eda didn’t move, helplessness and panic tangled up inside of her. Tuer was only a door away.
