He lunged toward me, but she interceded, touching his shadow and sending shock waves of pain through the smoke. He screamed, loud and plaintive. But I held fast, dropping to my knees. This was it, this was the only way, to turn the power that he’d so craved back on him. I reached deep, sought for all of the threads within myself that knew how to use the ishonar. I gathered them up into one mass and ripped it out of myself, toward him: a rolling, wheeling spiral of energy that flamed so brightly it illuminated the chamber.
For one moment it seemed to strengthen him and then I caught his thoughts as it touched the outer edges of his being.
Pirkitta—what are you doing to me? No—how could you do this? How could you do this to me?
And then he began to scream, and his scream echoed in the chamber, rising to a howl as his anguish grew. The wheel of ishonar rolled on, encompassing him, surrounding him, and he became the center of the wheel, spokes of fire radiating out from his core, meeting to eat away at his soul and devour and break him into shards.
I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch, not wanting to see what I was wreaking on Vikkommin’s soul, and yet I could not help but lower my hands as the shriek rose to a crescendo.
Vikkommin was in the air now, caught in the currents of wind that buffeted the chamber. He was being pulled apart, scattered to the four corners, ripped asunder. The wheel of ishonar moved on, rolling through him, and then it fell over the edge of the footpath, taking what remained of my love with it, down to the depths of Hel, where he would be washed clean and returned to the universe as new matter. Oblivion’s son.
I sat in the darkness, breathing heavily. Memories flooded my thoughts, memories of that night. Yes, I had killed him at the directive of my Lady. I’d set in motion all of these events at her bequest. And she had left me to wander, to take punishment, because if I remembered what had happened, the temple would have killed me.
But what now? What of the ishonar? What of my ability to control it?
Look inside, my Ar’jant d’tel. Look inside yourself. Don’t be afraid.
And there in the darkness, I went deep into my soul, let myself sink to the depths of my core. When I came to where the power of the ishonar had dwelt, I realized that I’d ripped out my knowledge of how to use it when I killed Vikkommin’s shadow. I’d used the knowledge this one time, to end his life—for it was the only hope I had of destroying him.
My ability to use the ishonar had died with him.
I slowly picked myself up, dusted off my cloak, and gathered my wand and everything I needed. I took one last look at the depths of the cavern, and using my walking staff, I made my way back toward the entrance.
As I emerged from the cavern, Howl leapt off of the craggy ledge. He stared at me. “Oh my Lady, what happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your face. Look at your face.”
I pulled out a small mirror from my pack and gazed into the glass. Along the sides of my forehead were intricate spirals and loops, beautiful designs in deep indigo, like water flowing down my cheeks in rivers and streams. I reached up and touched them. They did not hurt, but they were permanent—that much seemed clear.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to think.”
And then, Howl turned to wolf form, offered his back, and I crawled on and we began loping across the Skirts of Hel, back to the cave, back to my life.
EIGHT
CAMILLE, SMOKY, AND ROZURIAL WERE WAITING for me when I returned. I gave them a silent nod and they withdrew. Kitää motioned to one of her women, and within fifteen minutes a hot bath was waiting for me.
Camille and Kitää attended me, helping me remove my clothing. As they peeled off my tunic, Camille gasped.
“What?” I asked.
“The scars—they are different.”
I struggled to see, so Kitää brought a small mirror in for me and held it while I glanced over my shoulder, into the mirror. The scars, the lash marks from the ishonar, had shifted and changed. They now covered my back in an intricate set of coiling waterfalls—beautiful and strange and matching the tattoos on the sides of my forehead.
“You have been marked by your goddess,” Camille whispered. “I recognize the energy—it’s the same when the Moon Mother claimed me and branded me with her symbols.”
“But what could she be thinking?”
“We visit the temple tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll have your answer then?”
I nodded and stepped into the steaming tub of water, sinking gratefully into the soothing warmth. I had to visit the temple, to ask them remove the curse. To tell them of what really happened and set the record straight.
“Will you take your old name again once you are cleared?” Camille handed me a soft cloth for washing, and some soapwort.
I shook my head. “No. I have been Iris for so long . . . and truly, I am not Pirkitta anymore. It would no more fit my nature than . . . than returning to the temple for good would. I realized today, on that mountain, that part of my life is over. It was what it was, and the Lady needed me to stop Vikkommin from becoming a terrifying sorcerer who would have used our religion as a battering ram against the world.”
Camille let out a soft sigh. “Power is so easily abused.”
She still hadn’t asked me what happened, only if I had resolved things. Now, waiting for her question, I realized she wasn’t going to, not until I was ready to talk about it.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. “I will tell you after I’ve bathed and eaten. Right now, it’s still too fresh. But tomorrow will you go to the temple with me when I make my stand and demand they break the curse?”
Camille laughed then. “Iris, I would think that by now you’d know we’d go to the ends of the earth—and beyond—for you. You’re family, babe. And not just because you take care of the house. You are as much family to me as Delilah and Menolly are.”
Considering that Camille’s sisters were her world, that was a great compliment and one I would not forget. Content with my place in the world, I let the water draw the chill out from my bones and tried to forget the sound of Vikkommin’s screams echoing in my head.
HOWL AND KITÄÄ, along with a contingent of their people, led us to the doors of the temple. “We will wait out here until you are done. We will not leave you here.”
I turned to all of them. “If you are sure, then I will try to make it brief. Camille, Smoky, and Roz will have to wait out here, but you may go with me.” I lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall against the door. I’d sent word to the temple the night before and they seemed to know that Vikkommin was gone, because I’d received a summons to attend the next morning.
The door opened, and for the first time in six hundred years I was allowed to enter the temple of my goddess. As we stepped into the elaborate hall, carved from the solid mountain rock and inlaid with marble and silver and alabaster, my heart broke. I’d been ostracized for so long that it physically hurt to enter these halls where I’d spent my youth, where I’d fallen in love, where I’d been tortured.
The temple was as I’d remembered it. The main hall was so tall a whisper would echo on the currents, get caught, and rebound from wall to wall. Benches wrought in silver and marble were scattered around the hall. The floor was an elaborate stone mosaic depicting Undutar fighting one of the fire giants.
“My gods, this is beautiful,” Camille whispered. “Our temples to the Moon Mother are more wild and feral, as is her nature.”
“It is lovely, isn’t it? I don’t know how many centuries it took to build this hall—look, someone’s coming.”
I watched as the woman I immediately recognized as the Priestess-Mother slowly walked across the hall, flanked by two Elders. Her station was evident by the ornamentation on her robes. And I recognized the Elders with her, even after all these years. They had been present at my torture and denial.