“Liar.”
Mira rained fire from the ceiling, burning the stone to black. The fire did not pass through their shields, and Tessanna herself let several waves burn her skin and singe her hair. She laughed at the pain.
“A goddess fighting a goddess,” Tessanna said. “Who wins? Who breaks the tie?”
“The angrier,” Mira said. Lightning swirled about the ceiling, striking Tessanna over and over. Some she blocked with a shield, others she let hit her. Smoke rose from her eyes, and when she opened her mouth and laughed, putrid darkness floated from within like ash.
“You would strike my lover to defeat me,” Tessanna said. “And you are wrong. It is not the angrier. It is the one most insane.”
She raised her arms, and black ethereal wings stretched from her shoulders. They grew larger and larger, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. A single beat and she rose to equal height as Mira and then shrieked a wild, magical cry. The sound knocked Mira back and scattered her thoughts. The sight of the black angel awakened something inside her. She slammed the other side of the room with her body, then gasped at the pain. Her eyes flared a rainbow of colors. Wispy white wings grew from her back, attached to her shoulder blades by ethereal strands. White and black light shimmered in the room, and even the experienced war demons who had conquered many worlds stood with mouths agape.
“Insane?” Mira asked. “Is this what you call insanity?”
Tessanna snarled and cast a bleeding spell. The magic faded, losing all strength in the blinding white. She hurled fire and lightning, but this time it was Mira who let the spells hit, laughing as they splashed across her skin. They damaged her dress and burned her skin but caused no serious harm.
“Is this what we are?” Mira asked as she beat her wings, stretching the luminous white extremities throughout the room. “Is this the visage we will know beyond our death?”
Tessanna pulled her arms tight across her chest, her black eyes shimmering beneath a gray haze. Red seeped into her wings, the bloody crimson similar to the wings of the soldiers guarding Qurrah with their shields. Swirling darkness collected around her hands. She stared at Mira with a sudden calm, and at that look Mira knew what was happening. She could feel it in her own head.
Her children were fighting, and mother was coming to set things right.
“You’re to die,” Tessanna said. “I don’t know why, but you’re to die. It’s the only reason I was allowed my child.”
“Dreams, nothing more,” Mira said.
“Lie to yourself if you must.”
Tessanna locked her fingers together, pointed her hands at Mira, and let the full extent of her power unleash in a focused beam of red lightning. Mira thought to batter it aside with a shield as all other attacks, but she underestimated the power sent against her. Her shield shattered like glass, and then she screamed as pain immeasurable swarmed her being. Her wings dissolved, fading away as if they were but a dream. Magic abandoned her. As the electricity swirled around her body she plummeted to the ground, smacking against the unforgiving stone. Tessanna giggled as she heard the delicious sound of bones breaking.
“Stay away from her,” she ordered when she saw the war demons leaving their defensive formation. “She is my kill, and mine alone.”
Triumphant, she lowered herself to the floor, her black wings pulling back into her body. She smiled at the blood everywhere. Mira lay on her stomach, facing away from Tessanna. Directly before her was the portal, spinning steadily. She looked like a sacrifice to the mural, an offering in payment for the demon soldiers that had marched forthwith. But that wasn’t what caused Tessanna’s smile, nor was it the blood on the floor. It was the fact that Mira’s shoulders and chest still heaved from her breathing.
“I expected more,” Tessanna said as she drew her dagger. “So easily beaten? Mountains should have crumbled from our conflict, and entire cities leveled.”
Mira opened her eyes and stared at the portal as she heard the voice of the goddess speaking.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Tessanna said. She could hear her mother’s voice, the one that had told her to shatter her mirror. Finish it, the voice cried. End her. Destroy her life. The dagger, a single strike with the dagger!
“You still don’t know what we are,” Mira whispered. “And you think you will raise a child?”
Deep inside her breast she felt her power rising. It was the magic of the goddess, granted to her when she was just a babe leaving her mother’s womb. That power had struck her mother dead, stripped her of all life so that it might pour into the newborn child. A spell repeated over and over in her mind, and gently Celestia whispered to the small, lonely girl.
You were not meant for this world, only to save it from itself. Forgive me, my daughter. Accept the dagger. Forgive your other. She knows not what she does, only that she does it for me.
Mira began whispering the words of the spell. The power in her breast strengthened and concentrated. Tessanna sensed the growing danger. All around them wind swirled, chaotic and directionless. Their hair whipped about and the dust of the ground rose to the ceiling. The nearby soldiers covered their faces and cowered. Tessanna knelt, smiling her insane smile. Her heart raced. Her head throbbed. Excitement tingled up and down her spine. All would happen as it was meant. She would plunge the dagger, shatter her mirror, and then rouse Qurrah from unconsciousness so he could hold her, maybe even make love to her.
Mira stammered more and more. She felt desperate and vicious. She was becoming a trap, one that would detonate with the force of an angered goddess. Tears ran down her face, continuing even when Tessanna pushed her onto her back. The dagger hovered in the air. If it plunged through her skin, Mira’s magic would release in a devastating explosion, destroying Veldaren and closing the portal. Balance, so precariously trembling over permanent darkness, would be preserved.
Tessanna grabbed Mira’s face in her hand and tilted it so they could stare eye to eye. Her other hand quivered with excitement as it held the dagger. Now. Her entire purpose was now. For one agonizing moment all her pieces were made whole, her mind was one, and in singular desire she plunged down the dagger.
Mira closed her eyes, knowing what her death would mean, what her sacrifice would gain. Knowing so many lives would be saved. But she remembered how Lathaar’s arms had held her as she wept atop Karak’s bridge, and that knowledge meant nothing. She would never see him again. She screamed, one of horrible sorrow and shame. The spell dissipated, the danger vanishing and she went against her mother’s will. The dagger plunged into her breast. Tessanna gasped in pleasure, but the kill was not complete. She had missed the heart, and for a strange moment, she realized she had never aimed for it in the first place.
“Then why did I…” she asked before her mind fractured. The agony crumpled her to the floor as she held her temples and screamed.
“Lathaar,” Mira whispered as she felt warm blood spill across her chest. “Please, help me Lathaar. Help me.”
With shaking limbs, she slid onto her knees, the dagger lodged in her flesh. She glared at the war demons, who watched in admiration and horror. They knew her strength and were both in awe and terror of it. She looked away, unsure what such armored men with red wings meant. All she wanted was one thing. With the last of her power she staggered to her feet, opened a portal, and fell through.
Tessanna crawled along the floor, weeping all the while. Where she crawled she left a long red smear of blood. The soldiers parted for her. She clutched Qurrah’s robes and used them to pull herself onto him. She beat against his breast as she wept.
“Wake up,” she said. “Please, wake up, Qurrah.”
The drain of the portal was too great. Her lover remained unconscious. As the war demons took up their shields and weapons, she laid her head upon his neck and bathed him with her tears.
“I was whole,” she said. “I was whole, Qurrah, please wake up, I was whole. But now mommy’s mad at me, mad at us both. She wants our child, please, Qurrah, please damn it, please wake up!”
She cried herself to sleep, still alone, still in pieces.
L athaar lay with his back to the small fire, one of many that warmed the sprawling camp. His body was exhausted, his mind begged for sleep, but still he stared into nowhere. Ever since his childhood in the Citadel he had believed he was to be a beacon, an example of a decent life in an indecent world. He knew he was far from perfect, but his failure to meet a standard did not remove the standard. He heard the weeping and terror of so many shivering beside fires as they too failed to succumb to sleep. He, the beacon, felt emptied and darkened.
