“Take me back further in time. Show me how she died.”
Pain glistened in Kila Kitu’s eyes. “I won’t do that.”
“Then show me how the gateways were created.”
Kila Kitu sniffed. “I can’t do that. I’m not powerful enough.”
“Then show me what you can. If I see how she died, there might be a clue about how to save all the gateways. I do want to save them. I’m just different from your Elea. A little ore cautious, that’s all.”
“I will take you back. Then we’ll see what you truly are.” Kila Kitu waved his arm and a cloud of purple smoke appeared around us. A moment later, the violet-colored mists disappeared.
Kila Kitu and I still stood on the Meadow of Many Gateways. However, this time all the arches only shone with only the palest purple light. They were almost out of magickal energy.
Soon, someone would need to recharge them by losing their life.
The thought made me nauseous, but I leaned into my Necromancer training and kept my focus on the gateways. I simply had to stay alert. Seeing this so-called sacrifice might help me figure out how to power the gateways without losing my life.
I scanned the skies once more. The last of the Blood Comet was disappearing by the horizon.
Behind us, a gateway flared with a pale lavender light. Out of it stepped two figures I’d seen before in my visions.
First, there was an Elea who wasn’t me.
And at her side, there walked a Viktor who wasn’t Viktor.
The two were dressed in long purple robes that flowed behind them as they crossed the checkerboard grass. About twenty Zaidi followed behind them, all warriors who were carrying bows and arrows. The entire company marched right through both me and Kila Kitu, oblivious to our presence.
Kila Kitu gestured toward the Not-Elea and Not-Viktor. “You asked to see this. Why not have a closer look?”
What I wanted to do was run home and hide, but I nodded instead. With hesitant steps, I approached the Not-Elea. Her eyes were smaller than mine, her mouth a bit larger, and her nose a tad longer. She wasn’t me, and yet she was.
After that, I looked to Viktor. It was the same with him; there were a series of subtle differences that added up to a single conclusion. This wasn’t the same man I’d fought so many times before. The pair paused in the center of the long rectangular board. Viktor patted Elea’s head and smiled.
They were friends.
I stared at them, my mind blank with shock. They liked each other? I’d assumed the two were mortal enemies, the same as me and my Viktor. Something about their friendship knocked at the back of my mine—this was important. I pictured my last battle with Viktor, the one where I raised the Necromancers from the dead. He’d cut his cheek and the same injury appeared on me.
And this Elea and Viktor were friends.
Together with the joint injuries, that meant something.
Before I could contemplate further, another gateway flared to life. Two new figures stepped onto the chessboard.
The Sire and Lady.
The Lady appeared resplendent as ever in her long green gown with golden tresses trailing behind her. For his part, the Sire wore his black armor and a dour look on his pale face. As the two approached the Not-Elea and Not-Viktor, the ground shook. Long fissures opened up in the checkerboard pattern of the meadow.
The Sire and Lady paused before the Not-Elea and Not-Viktor. The Lady gestured to the fresh breaks in the earth. “We don’t have much time.”
Not-Elea straightened the lines of her long purple robes. “I can access hybrid magick.”
The Sire’s gray eyes narrowed to slits. “Hybrid power is forbidden.”
Not-Viktor gestured around the meadow. “But you created these gateways with hybrid power. Surely, we don’t have to die to maintain it.”
“Only one of you has to die,” said the Lady. “But if you both choose to make the sacrifice, the arches will be that much stronger.”
Another gateway lit up with purple brightness. This time, a figure in long bronze robes stepped out. Whoever it was, they were carrying the Sword of Theodora by the hilt, the blade pointed down. The robe’s hood hung low, so I couldn’t see the newcomer’s face. Still, there was something solid and unyielding in their stance.
“Your executioner is here,” said the Lady.
My throat constricted with anxiety. No wonder this figure appeared so foreboding. One day, whoever this was would come for me as well.
“Make this easy on yourself,” added the Sire, his voice deep as thunder. “Sacrifice willingly. That way, it won’t hurt so badly. For you…” He gestured to the Zaidi. “Or for them.”
Not-Elea’s shoulders stiffened. “You wouldn’t hurt the Zaidi.” Behind her, all the warriors strung their bows, pointing the arrows straight at the Sire and Lady. Neither of the deities so much as flinched with worry.
“We never hurt anyone,” explained the Lady. “The executioner does.”
Not-Viktor gripped Not-Elea’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking. Do not do this.”
Not-Elea shook off his touch. “If I agree to this sacrifice, will you allow the Zaidi to live?”
The Lady smiled sweetly. “You have our word.”
Not-Elea nodded and then knelt before her executioner.
After that, things happened so quickly, it was hard to keep track. Not-Viktor lunged for the executioner, ready to attack. The figure in bronze moved with supernatural speed, running the Sword of Theodora straight through Not-Viktor’s chest. A burst of purple light shone out from the spot. Not-Viktor screamed in agony.
“See?” asked the Sire. “When you’re unwilling, it’s far more painful.”
For a full minute, cries of agony echoed across the meadow. Then Not-Viktor fell over, dead.
Next the executioner turned to Not-Elea. My almost-double stared at the dead body beside her on the ground. “Say it again. You won’t touch the Zaidi. You won’t harm anyone else I love.”
I gasped with recognition and fear. Those words reminded me of Petra’s message. “When you disobey the gods, this is what happens to those you love.”
How many times had the Sire and Lady blackmailed someone like me into allowing themselves to be killed? A ball of rage tightened inside me.
“We give you our word,” intoned the Sire.
Not-Elea bowed her head. “Then I am ready.”
One of the Zaidi stepped forward. “You can not do this.” My eyes widened as a recognized this young warrior.
It was a younger version of Kila Kitu.
Not-Elea gave him a sad smile. “You can’t stop this. No one can. And I need you alive. Help the next martyr, so long as he or she is worthy.”
The young Kila Kitu shook his head. “I can’t.”
“I am your creator. You owe me your life and fealty.” The words Not-Elea spoke were harsh, but there was no anger behind them.
The young Kila Kitu hung his head. “I will do as you command.”
“Move on with the ceremony,” said the Lady.