Mama grinned, less a smile and more a mocking show of teeth. There was nothing human in her face, yet the expression gave me hope. I rubbed at the dried tear tracks on my face. They didn't sit right on my skin, preserved within a shell of air.
I can hear both of them in there.
She did not move, restricted by the watery bonds Aquanaya had put on her, but she looked as if she wanted to pounce on me and leave me as a demon-shell as well. Her beautiful hair was bedraggled and plastered to her body, but I could tell that it was thinner and straggly, less luscious, perhaps longer as well. I fingered my own hair like it was a blanket to clutch. Didn't she feed on magic? Or was the mother I knew controlling her body just enough that she did not bestow her fate upon any other unfortunate Gifted soul? I hoped so. But what of her? Did she believe that the world no longer needed her, the mother, sister and wife?
Fire worked on demons the best, that much I knew, but how could I burn the demon without charring the mortal body to a husk? And would it work beneath the sea? Would I be able to summon even an ember?
This was hopeless.
She stopped screaming, though the sound rang in my ears. The world swirled, and through her quieting yelps, my arms felt slack by my sides, legs like jelly. He was dead. And I had killed him.
I remember how Mama screamed when she saw, the sound but an octave different from hers. He had been the first to walk into her heart and really leave an imprint. The first to break it.
I sifted through all my memories of Mama, searching for anything, anything that would help her regain full control of her mind. I remembered her in her late twenties, holding me as a babe in her arms. Just bits and pieces that I grabbed onto from a swirling vortex. I remembered her laugh of delight as I took my first step, her long hair sweeping in a wave as she picked me up and swung me around. I remembered her sitting by me helping me get through my first load of homework, remembered how she used to chat with me and Father while making dinner, often refusing to let the cooks make it for us. No. I didn't quite remember that—just the way her eyes sparked as she moved around the kitchen. I remembered wondering if I was a distraction—yet she still talked to us.
I could think back to the way her hair draped over my chubby fingers when I wrapped my arms around her back as a child.
So many walls along corridors I hadn't traversed in years, smeared with shards of memories I couldn't explain. Not all of them neat photos or glimpses into the sixteen years that I had lived. Some of them were wisps of sound and laughter, some the aroma of a roiling sea, all framed in wooden boxes.
I remembered the defiance and simmering anger written on her face when she showed everyone the secret that she'd hidden for years, the slender, soft fingers wrapping around that ball of flame that had so often been closed around my own hands. I remembered childhood trips to the beach, how she took me in her arms and waded into the sea, pointing out the fish darting around her ankles, further out than my stubby child legs could've reached alone.
I remembered how I used to love those trips, because they were the only time when I could see the tattoo that snaked from the back of her knee up the side of her thigh, disappearing into the back of her swimsuit. Tattoos were outlawed in Kaleveh, because it was considered a sin to purposely mar the skin Nyoraia gave you, but Mama had gotten it in Saetche. I'd never realised the meaning of the tattoo, a roaring dragon that looked like it was made from pure black flame. There were intricate roses scattered all around the writhing body of the legendary creature, looking like they were encased in the dragon's flame.
The dragon and the roses.
For my mama's love of her fire.
A love so great that it surpassed the boundaries of time. A love I might come to know, a love that caused her spirit to break when her Gift was taken. Even if…even if I rid her of the demon, would she be able to live without her magic, live with the memories of what had been done to her?
I didn't know, and for that, I was heartbroken.
I remembered how Mama used to wear such lovely gowns when she was out with Father, since she didn't like people seeing her tattoo. My favourite one was a searing red one she wore often, with a intricate, beaded bodice and a full, layered skirt with tiny golden details like tendrils of flame licking up the side. Matched with a delicate tiara embedded with rubies, a Lille family heirloom, that looked like a single ember among the ash of her hair. I wanted to tear myself apart, at the memories of that blazing love hidden in plain sight all along.
I still remembered how when I was younger, Mama would scoop me up and I would trace the wide-open maw of the dragon snaking up her shoulder. Such fond memories, in such a faraway life.
That tattoo. So crudely beautiful.
And suddenly I realised that the mother I knew would never have gotten a tattoo like that. Unless the mother I knew was someone else completely.
But that tattoo…why had she wanted to cover it up? I knew it was not something related to the unlawfulness of having one in Kaleveh. She didn't bow to anyone. I racked my brains, searching, searching. I looked at her, unmoving in the stone guard's arms. Why? Why did she cover it up so fervently, though everyone knew it existed? It wasn't a societal reason; we were an accepting community. The law was an old one that was only upheld for respect. As she'd grown older, she had stopped revealing it much, the occasions she did so rare that even I had started to forget it existed. Only if I picked out a memory of her and studied it, would I be able to remember the dragon.
She must've done it to make people…forget.
Forget that it existed, so most would recognise her for her hair, black as the raven's wing and as recognisable as a raindrop in a desert of ruddy brown, for her gentle demeanour and calm style of leadership. For her clever mind, sharp and resourceful as a magpie's. Not for the artwork inked onto her skin.
Forget, because she'd known that it would come in handy someday, if someone wanted to blackmail me with her, there would be one thing and one thing only that would be different…
Surely. Because Chieftesses, people with power were kidnapped all the time, used to win inordinate amounts of treasure through ransom. Unless there was another reason.
Unless I was overthinking it, and there was nothing about it.
I stepped up to my mother. Her expression didn't change. In one fluid, agile movement, I dropped to the icy floor. Neither the guard nor what I was now almost sure was a copy of my mother moved. Pushing away the silken, ragged scraps of fabric that were her clothes, the remains of the robes she had worn to my Agecoming, my heart sank.
It was there, the lashing tail and a solitary, silken petal. Further up, delicate, overlapping scales, the start of a spiky mane.
I looked away in disappointment, a knot forming in my stomach. I curled up in the foetal position, chin resting on my knees. Blinking the tears out of my eyes, I felt judgement wash over me. Why had I ever thought she was a fake? What better way for Aquanaya to influence, to control me, than take my mother, knowing I'd do anything for her?
Suddenly, something clicked in my mind.
But I had to check just one thing first.
I reached out, twisting a bolt of fabric in my fist. She didn't even flinch as I yanked down. And the fabric came apart, fraying at the shoulder to reveal a white shift underneath. It slid off her body like a waterfall over rocks, pooling at her feet. Aquanaya could recreate Mama's face, she could recreate her flowing hair and the pattern of the beige fabric, but not the unique weave of Kaleveran cloth, that the key to replicating few artisans knew, which was knitted together in a way that should mean it was rendered almost impossible to tear.
I watched the figure, the copy stand as still as a stone statue as the ripped threads dissolved into the water, leaving a momentary distortion around where they had laid. Like a mirage.
Then, as I fixed my gaze on the place where the twisting body of the reptilian fire-breather disappeared under the hemline of the shapeless ivory dress, her skin appeared to shimmer. And as I watched, the veins I could see through her pale skin began to twist and warp, burning away the top layer of flesh, peeling it away until the glamour was gone, until the magically conjured disguise was scrubbed away to reveal bare skin.
Only when you open your eyes will you see. I'd always scoffed at the claim; how could you live without opening your eyes? But it had a different meaning now.
The skin was white. It was pale, sickly, inhuman, exactly how Mama had looked. But where Mama had a swirling black dragon crawling up her leg, on this doll there was nothing but unaffected, smooth skin. Tattoos could not be removed. While Kaleveh was only one of few who really deemed tattoos unlawful, every continent had a taboo on removing them, so you might live with the shame forever etched on your skin. It was the one impossible feat.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, as I put my fingers to the skin and felt the unnatural coldness there. My hands stung with the touch, as if I were touching a frozen lake in winter. It looked pasty, but there was no makeup brushed over it. The tattoo had not been covered up, to make it seem like I had succeeded.
Aquanaya had not referred to this lifeless statue as Mama. She had only said to get rid of the demon and leave the human alive. There was no human. There was only the demon, the sin that lay in this deceit.
Renewed strength surging through my bones, I straightened up.
The fake didn't move, and the guard stepped away, melting into the background as if knowing I needed his presence no longer.
I felt the prick of my fingernails on my palms as I balled my hands. In the moment, I did not realise why I had done it, only that I wanted to grit my teeth and let go of myself, the bonds and titles that used to hold me back. Unshackle myself from all the lies, the lies that were my life.
Gathering my pain, my fury, my glory and victory and triumph, the desperation that had been building up these days, I swung. I felt the all-too-preternatural stiffness of the pitch-black hair, felt only stone greeting my fingers. Time stood still as my knuckles connected with her waxy skin, and the copy went crashing down the steps onto the crystalline floor.
"You're not my mother," I spat down at the creature.
For a second the memory of the sound of my foot connecting with that pile of dirt, the poof it said as it flattened out, flashed in my mind.
Brother.
Lover.
I did not have time to ponder it. Because as soon as she hit the floor and lay there still as a stone, I was pulled into a place I did not ever want to be in again.
I watched, shell-shocked and horrified as she knelt beside his body, checking frantically for his pulse, any signal that he was still alive. I could not move. What had I done?
His heart had stopped because of me. I waved away the feeling that lingered, the niggling feeling that I had been possessed, my body unwillingly taken over. But I managed to slide to her side, pulling her away from his body. "He's gone," she sobbed.
"I know," I told her, holding her tight, trying to soothe her racking sobs. "I know."
At that moment, the figure, the living doll, whatever it was, shattered abruptly into fragments of ice with a keening that pulled me from the memory. Like it was a stronger glamour, a mist figure that had never been, the pieces instantly disintegrated and evaporated into the water that did not touch my skin.
And in the place of where a heart should've been, there was a book.
A faded volume bound with burgundy leather with crinkled pages and covered with what looked like centuries-old grime. Yuck.
For the first time, I wondered about the books I'd pored over while sitting on the rickety floor of the boat. Had they been destroyed? I hoped not. I had no wish to see the blood-spattered pages and ancient spells those tomes contained ever again, but the maps, the information—they were priceless. And if they were lost, if Aquanaya had not bothered to save them, I didn't know what I'd do.
I looked around, but I was alone. The guard had well and truly disappeared. The goddess wasn't back yet. I stared at the book. No terrible monster burst suddenly from its pages, no phantom wind flipped it open to a page of evil spells and bloodthirsty potions. I didn't know what I was expecting, but the more I looked at it, the louder it seemed to call my name. I was curious.
I picked up the book, running my fingers over the faded red spine. Already the pads of my fingers were covered in a sticky film of dust. Priceless, if it was so old, yet bound in this leather that would've been scarce only fifty years ago.
After failing miserably at trying to wipe the icky residue on the book off my fingers, I opened the book. There was no publication information. No author. Even the books on the boat had had written authors, even if the names were often questionable. There was no chilling title that had my toes curling. I flicked through, sure the empty pages at the start were a fluke.
The pages were completely empty. Not a single drop of ink on them. Was this some twisted joke? Or was it a diary waiting to be filled? I didn't get the point.
But something told me there was something waiting to be found inside. I flipped through, and finally paused at the second-last worn yellow page. Because there were just two short sentences scribbled in the middle of the page, in ink that self-erased as soon as the words had sunk in.
Aim for their eyes. Summon with your fire.
Nothing else.
Just to be sure, I turned to the next page. I almost thought it was blank, except for a few words in the corner.
Your test is not over.
What?
I threw the book to the ground, not caring that the weathered spine split clean in half and most of the pages scattered. Great. Just what I needed. For a split second, I wondered what would happen if I decided to walk out of the place right here, right now.
I slumped to the ground for the second time.
A soup of emotion doused my mind, soaking it with worthlessness. I couldn't decide what I felt most. Utterly useless. Simmering resentment at being misled and mistreated so thoroughly. Oh yes, I was mad. I tried to breathe, drinking in the air, laced with the salty aroma of the ocean.
Air that I knew was provided for by Aquanaya, so she could save me then kill me where nobody would ever see.
You summoned me.
I did not believe that for one second.
My namesake had called her. That one truth hit me like a blow to the gut. Another Chandani, sometime, somewhere—with an empty space where a family name should've been. I had never heard of her. Yet the water goddess had spoken of her, said her name, my name, like it was sacred.
Like her existence was but a forgotten story, a tale told of a heroine who dwelled in myth. Once, thousands of moons ago…
I shook the tale from my mind.
But then, when she had looked at me like she was helping plan my funeral…she could very well have been at hers many, many years ago. I had to admit Aquanaya had all the strings, and she knew exactly how to tug them. How to make me want more, to know more, for me to bend.
She's dangerous.
Words were invaluable, the most coveted of weapons.
Any soldier could fight, but it took a certain type of attack to lead armies to victory.
A certain type of attack to act, to change, to adapt, and do it in a way that made others want to follow you.
To inspire.
Any man could make a speech, but it took a certain sort of man to move a crowd.
Any person could trash talk others, but it took a certain kind of person to sow distrust.
That day, Grandfather had perhaps pitted my whole village against me. Made them see me as a menace. His words made me feel weak, useless. Like I was an outcast, not fit for my own home.
Your test is not over.
I was so tired. I was sick of the lies.
As much as I tried to shut them out, the words jostling to be heard until their cunning, cruel sounds were but a relentless humming in my ear. Mama had taught me how to use words once—how to make them furrow into minds like worms and latch there until they had proved their point. Yet now the words rang over and over in my brain.
My fingers slipped on the walls of that chasm. I could still hear squabbling from far above. It was silly, outright stupid, what they were ignoring lives for.
Money. Pride, greed, cruelty.
Nobody came to help me as my broken and bleeding nails gave out, and screaming, the darkness, a monster that would not yield, that lurked in the darkest nightmares, rose up to claim my soul.
The words replayed again and again.
And I gave myself to the shadows.