The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [131]
Yvanna seemed not to notice, however. “It cannot be...”
“The stone,” Atiana said breathlessly. “Did you not see it?”
“See what?”
“When first you touched it, it glowed, however briefly.” Atiana stepped closer, opening her mind to the aether, as she supposed Saphia did while she was outside of the drowning basin. She passed her hands over the gem, feeling nothing at first, but when her fingers brushed its surface, she felt the cool touch against her skin, like a ripple in an underground lake.
“I see nothing,” Yvanna stated flatly.
“It is there.” Atiana still had the stone, and she was trying desperately to keep her mind open for any small sign, but the harder she tried, the more numb and clumsy her senses seemed to become. “And there will be more to see in the aether.”
Olgana looked to Yvanna, who looked nervously down at Saphia. She seemed ready to send Atiana back to her cell, perhaps afraid of what it might mean if Atiana were caught, Yvanna having freed her.
But then she looked up to Atiana, perhaps realizing how vulnerable all of them were. She needed Atiana, and she knew it. After taking a deep breath, she nodded to Olgana in response.
Atiana moved to the drowning basin and undressed as Olgana prepared the jar of goat fat. Atiana was rubbed down hastily but efficiently, and then Olgana moved to the lever that allowed the chill mountain water into the sluice.
Water crept up the sides of the drowning basin while Atiana took deep, measured breaths. She had nearly resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be taking the dark, and now that she found herself here, about to do just that, she felt unprepared, unbalanced. But there was nothing for it.
When it was high enough, she stepped into the bone-chilling water and lay down before her fears had a chance to take hold. Olgana inserted the breathing tube. Atiana stared into Olgana’s eyes, hoping she hadn’t promised too much. But Olgana seemed to understand, for she leaned over and kissed the crown of her head, and then lowered Atiana into the water.
“May your ancestors keep you,” were the last words she heard before she was underwater.
She had difficulty at first—her mind was running wild with possibilities, with fears and emotions—but she focused on her breath, on the expansion and contraction of her ribs, the elongation of her spine, and the way the water cradled her.
And soon... Soon...
She wakes in the impenetrable darkness of the aether. Unlike the previous times, she sees little—faint overtones of midnight blue, nothing more. Slowly, as she allows herself to fall deeper, the colors coalesce: the handservant standing over the basin; the Matra herself, lying in her bed; the fire in the nearby hearth, which glows not yellow and orange but a deep, deep red.
The Matra’s form is dark—almost entirely black—but there is color to her still. It might say nothing about whether or not she is truly lost to the winds, however. It may be because she has so recently passed.
The stone around the Matra’s neck is dim. Atiana moves forward, opening her mind to allow the Matra’s soul to touch hers, but there is nothing. No response. Not even a faint glimmer. Just the cold embers of a once-raging fire.
She touches the stone, and there is the briefest of flashes. She feels a thread leading from the stone, but she is prevented from following it.
What are you doing here, child?
It is the Duchess Polina Mirkotsk. She is not strong in the ways of the dark, but she has always been good at speaking through it, so there is little wonder that they set her as the watchdog.
I am trying to help the Matra, Saphia.
Who allowed you into her chamber?
Yvanna, now begone.
Atiana tries to drift outward, to follow the trail leading away from Saphia, but Polina stops her.
Polina speaks softly to the other Matri, bidding them to verify Atiana’s words. No doubt one of the others would assume one of